


Cuddles

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: The Many Lives of Bilbo and Thorin [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Hopefully a good amount of Fluff, Jealous Thorin Oakenshield, M/M, Strider - Freeform, Thorin STILL needs to use his WORDS, and Legolas are cuddle buddie, bilbo, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-07-15 08:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16059221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: Though this is part of the many lives series, it can be read on its own.Bilbo leaves Erebor as soon as the battle is over. After rushing in to save a Man from an orc attack, he is taken to Rivendell to recover.In the Last Homely House, he manages to make two dear friends. Eventually, however, his past catches up with him.





	1. Leaving Erebor

**Author's Note:**

> This starts with angst but will become fluff!

One day, it shall be known as the fabled Battle of Five Armies. The day that Men, Elves, and Dwarrow banded together to defeat the evil Orcs.

To one poor, injured, blood soaked little Hobbit, it is known as the day his heart broke. No Hobbit should ever be forced to fight for their life, but Bilbo has had to do little else since leaving the Shire to help the Dwarrow of Erebor reclaim their home.

And yet, the introduction of a sword into his life is not what has broken his heart. It is the possibility of fallen friends and his banishment. His King wishes never to see him again ... his heart will not survive Thorin looking upon him as a traitor a second time. 

Erebor is reclaimed. The Orcs defeated. With a soft sob, Bilbo realizes that it's time to leave.

* * *

Banishment. It is a strong, horrible word. Bilbo Baggins is hard pressed to think of a harsher word in all of existence. It is even crueler and more painful than incineration.

Though, he can now think of a single worse word; love. It is a farce. A true horror of a word and he fully believes that he will -never- believe in love again. Not of any kind. His poor Hobbit heart has turned away from the once happy thoughts of love, of friendship and family. Instead, he now thinks only of getting as far away from Erebor as he dares.

He has been banished by the One he loves and it feels as if he will fall to pieces even now.

"Burglar?" It is strange that it should be Dwalin he sees last, rather than his Nephews or even Bofur. Someone he had managed to find some form of kinship with. "Where are you going, halfling?" 

That word wrankles. It crawls under the scabs of his torn skin and ring like funeral bells in his mind.

"I am following the wishes of your King, Dwarf. I am banished. The war is won. I am taking my leave." It almost feels freeing, saying that he is leaving. Not because he wants to. -Never- because he wants to. But rather he is a little proud of himself that even now, he can follow the orders of his King. 

"Leaving?? In all of this, I never took you for a coward, halfling." Those words. They are the last in a line of unfair insults that snaps something deep inside of the gentlehobbit. He turns, unsteady, but manages to strike before the dwarf can get his wits about him. One large, bleeding foot connects with Dwalin's sternum, then with his knee. Effectively sending the proud warrior sprawling on his back in the mud.

"I left my home and my people, dwarf. I felled orc and spider, faught warg and darkness, went head to head with a Dragon, all in the name of reclaiming a home not my own. No creature shall ever have the right to call me a coward." He turns then, too numb to feel the various aches and pains, the injuries he had sustained. "It is bad enough, all that your King has said to me. I will not hear it from you as well, Dwalin. Enjoy your bloody mountain." With that, he stumbles away in search of Bard in hopes of finding some help.

* * *

In the end, it was far easier to slip away than he expected it to be.

Bard would not see him, despite everything. Not that Bilbo really blames him. The Man had children and his people to look after. Of course the concerns of a single Hobbit meant nothing in all of that. 

So, imagine his surprise when help came in the from of Thranduil. The elvenking had appeared with a curt bow of the head, a pony outfitted, and very little beyond a basic goodbye and fragile hopes that Bilbo reach the Shire in one piece. Despite his ongoing fascination with Elves, he had no desire to stay and converse with the creature. No, he had taken to the road immediately, not even bothering to find who lived or died. 

He fully believes that the knowledge of the death of anyone he cared for would be the final straw that would claim his life. Better to leave with the hope that everyone lived and without the treasure that would remind him of his King. After all, what need has a gentlehobbit for riches? 

The travel from Erebor was far simpler, far easier than the journey to reach the mountain. There were no spiders, no wandering bands of orcs, no riddles or half truths to fight through. He had considered stopping at the home of the Great Bear but the thought of being called little bunny on the tail end of halfling is too much for him to handle. Besides, he is convinced that if Thorin could banish him, that if Dwalin could still think him so removed from the Company as to be a coward, there is no reason for Beorn to harbor any feelings of friendship for him.

So onward he had pressed. Not in search of the Shire as he had originally planned, but instead, to The Last Homely House East of the Sea. The elves of Rivendell had been nothing but kind to him and at the moment, he is in dire need of all the kindness he can get. 

He is so attention starved, in fact, that he has considered turning back several times. At least there would be people in Dale that would look upon him favorably. Anything would be better than the disgust he was likely to find in the Shire. He is far too fragile still to endure their whispers and pointing. The elves, at least, would give him warmth and understanding where he has had very little.

* * *

He is tired, hungry, dirty, and still injured. He wants to bathe and then sleep for a week. 

All of those thoughts fly from his mind, however, when the sound of clashing weapons pulls him back to his present. His pony draws up short, hoof snapping angrily at the ground, head tossing to and fro as agitation builds.

He does not think better of it. Does not hesitate. He throws himself from his mount, Sting gripped tightly as he launches himself at the first orc. He buries Sting in it's neck before wrenching free and rushing the next. He manages to take it out at the knees before slamming Sting into it's face. Sadly, he is no longer a stranger to the sounds and smells of battle. 

He has just enough time to fell a third and final orc before he comes face to face with a young Man. At least, he assumes the Man to be young, as he is not as old as Bard but not yet so young as Bard's son. 

"My thanks to you, stranger. They were upon me before I could escape." The young Man is of a height of his people, cloaked in muddy browns and hunter greens as the Rangers often are. He has long, flowing hair and a shade of stubble across his jaws.

"It was my pleasure to stop and help." He wearily sheaths Sting and executes a surprisingly Dwarrow bow. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He is surprised to see the Man lay a hand across his chest in an Elven fashion, even bowing his head in respect.

"Well met. I am ... Strider, Master Baggins. That is a very .. Dwarrow greeting and yet .. you are no dwarf." Bilbo tilts his head back, a somewhat bitter laugh escaping as he looks into the skies.

"No, Master Strider, I am no dwarf. I am a simple Hobbit of the Shire." 

"Please, just call me Strider. And I can see nothing simple about you, Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit or not. You charged into a fight not your own, in defense of a complete stranger, and felled three orc with your sword. I owe you my life." The Man has no way of knowing  how desperately the poor Hobbit had needed to hear such words. He can feel the hot cascade of tears flowing swiftly down his cheeks and he quickly lowers his head for fear of this Man seeing his weakness.

"Bilbo? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" There is a wellspring of fear and concern in this foreign voice. Things Dwalin had not even been capable of summoning for him, and it causes the tears to fall all the faster. He sniffles deep and wet and cannot hold back a pathetic sob when Strider wraps him in a delicate and soft hug. 

"Peace to you, gentlehobbit. Please, do not cry. Where do you travel, my friend?" Striders hand has begun a soothing rub against his back and Bilbo is scandalized to realize he wants nothing more than to burrow against this strange Ranger and not let go unless he absolutely has to. 

"R-Riven-d-dell." Each letter is a fight for the poor creature to get out and it breaks Striders heart. 

"Then rest well, my gentlehobbit friend. I shall bear you hence to Rivendell. It is the least I owe you." The hobbit splutters in surprise when Strider lifts him so easily and presses him tenderly against his heart. And yet, the minute he is resting there, he feels truly sheltered and at ease for the first time since he left the Shire.

"Thank you, Strider. Already, you are becoming a trusted friend.." Bilbo's words slur thickly. He barely has time to wrap his little hand in the clasp of Strider's cloak before he is passing out from a mixture of exhaustion, hunger, and injury.

* * *

Bilbo awakens in small doses. His senses returning in bits and pieces. First there is an almost overwhelming sense of warmth that reminds him of his Mothers favorite blanket. Many a night he has huddled under it, reliving the joyous memories of her. 

Then comes the pain. It is muted but still present but he is not yet so awake as to worry what condition he may be in.

Next, he notices something warm and weighted slotted between his fingers. It is only when he manages to pry his tired eyes open that he realize there is a large hand wrapped about his own.

"Strider." He speaks the new name with all the sleepy fondness of a lifelong friend and watches in amusement as the young Man startles awake in his chair.

"Bilbo!" His own affection is instant and full and the Hobbit finds himself relaxing into the comfortable bed. "I feared the worst, my friend. Please, do not scare me so deeply again." Bilbo huffs a soft breath and squeezes the hand held in his. 

"Forgive me, my friend. I had not realized the extent of my injuries. I..." His words falter, his mind suddenly filled with the memories of war.

He is not aware that he has begun to shake until he feels a hand grasping at his shoulder.

"Bilbo? You are shaking! Shall I fetch Lord Elrond??" The concern showed by this kind stranger is a soothing balm that battles back the dark memories.

"No, my young friend. For all of his power, Lord Elrond cannot mend the darkness of memory. I will be fine. I just ... it is something I must wait out." He can feel the sense of helplessness pouring off the Man in waves and he wishes he could sooth his friend. After a moment of thought, he gently yanks at the hand twined with his and laughs merrily as Strider collapsed onto the bed next to him. "How long have we been here?"

Strider hesitates for a moment before quickly reworking himself so that he is laying beside the Hobbit, Bilbo's hand now cradled between both of his. It is a wondrous comfort.

"We have been here for three days. Lord Elrond was worried over your injuries but assured me they were not life threatening. I was truly worried that you had received grevious injury in helping me but he said that they were far older than that." He can tell that the Man wishes to ask but is grateful when he does not try to push the topic further.

"I am sorry to have worried you, my young friend. It ... it is not something I am ready to speak on." The hands caging his tighten just enough to draw his attention to his friend.

"Each Man's sorrow is his own. It seems only right that it should be true for Hobbits as well, Bilbo. You will tell me in your own time, should you feel the need." He is somewhat prepared for the burn of tears this time and manages to blink them back.

"You are a wise Man, Strider." 

"I count that as high praise coming from you. Rest, my friend. I will be here when you wake." The Hobbit truly means to thank Strider, but he is asleep before he can do so.


	2. Truths Are Not Always True

"Master Baggins." The sound of an authoritative yet friendly voice pulls the Hobbit from his sleep instantly. On instinct, which he was not aware he had, his arm tightens around the body that is pressed into his side. It is a distinctly protective reaction. One he could see himself taking with Fili and Kili or Ori. "Be not afraid, my friend."

The moment he realizes that it is Elrond speaking, he visibly relaxes. 

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond. I did not realize it was you. It is taking some time to adjust." He reluctantly begins to pull his arm away only to feel Strider's grip tighten around his smaller frame. He sends a sleepy smile in his friends direction, leaving his arm in place before turning back to the Elf Lord.

"There is no reason for forgiveness. I am glad that you are well, Bilbo. The state in which Estel brought you to use pained my heart greatly. May I ask ... why were you injured so?" 

He knew the question was coming. Of course he did. One could not see the injured disarray he had appeared in and -not- wonder, but he finds that he can no more answer this question for his old friend than he could for his New.

"You could ask, my friend, but I would not ..... -could- not answer. Not yet. I can but say this .. Erebor is retaken." He cannot say who is King, who survived or died, what kind of restoration or alliances are taking place.

"My dear Bilbo." The words are a fond, emotional exhale and Bilbo can feel the sting of tears against his tired eyes.

"No m're tears, B'l'o." Striders voice is sleep slurred and dream drunk but still intense and earnest. The Man truly doesn't want him crying anymore. He leans over on an odd whim and presses a kiss to the smooth brow of his drousing friend.

"I must agree with him on this matter, my friends. This is not the time for tears. At least for now. I hope you will remain in Rivendell for a time. Rest, restore your strength and allow my people to comfort you." He's so emotionally overwrought that all of that sounds like heaven. Were he to return to the Shire now, he would have nothing in Hobbiton. Just an empty smial filled with inanimate objects. No warmth, no personality. 

"Thank you, Lord Elrond. I do believe I will take you up on your offer. Rivendell is so very beautiful and your people so very kind." He smiles sleepily at the Elf Lord, quite happy now that he has some plan for the immediate future.

Elrond leans forward, that understated but warm smile in place as he carefully tips his head at an angle that he may gently brush the tip of his nose against Bilbo's.

"I am pleased to hear it. Rest well." Bilbo smiles sleepily as he watches his friend depart.

"... did he just rub noses with you?" Strider yawns loudly even as he begins to reluctantly pull himself from Bilbo's side.

"Yes, he did. It's a familial action done in the Shire." He glances at the Man, surprised to see a look of almost pained curiosity and yet, whatever he wishes to speak is never uttered. Instead, Strider quickly exits the bed.

"I think Lord Elrond was right. You should try to sleep some more, Bilbo. I'm sure someone will bring you food once you awaken. I must take my leave for now." Before he can say more, Strider has walked away.

The poor Hobbit is left feeling small, cold, and alone by the abrupt departure of his friend. For now, he buries the feelings and snuggles deep into the comfortable bedding. There are no dragons to battle, no kingdoms to reclaim. All he need do is rest. How glorious.

* * *

The next week passes in an odd, painful haze for Bilbo. Upon waking, he had been presented with a nice meal served by a kind eleven woman that told him as politely as possible that both Elrond and Strider were indisposed and could he please not leave his room until he had been deemed fit enough to do so.

Each meal for the next three days were delicious and filling, but still he was confined to quarters without a friend in sight.

By the end of the week, he had a sick, pained feeling swirling in the pit of his gut. Fueled by the memories of Thorin, of being held over that sheer drop while calling him a traitor and banishing him, coupled with Dwalins look of disgust when calling him a coward, echoed in his mind. It snagged upon long buried insecurities and left him sure beyond a doubt that he was wrong. So very wrong.

First truth he fears to be true: Lord Elrond does not consider him an overly important guest, let alone a friend. Surely the Elven Lord only showed him such kindness because it was the way of his people. And, of course, because he is a friend of Gandalf. 

Second truth he fears to be true: Strider is not his friend. The young Man had shown himself to be a creature of compassion. Surely that is why he stuck by his side as he healed. He felt obligated because Bilbo had come to his aid. After all, once Strider knew he was truly well, he had left immediately and has not been back. 

Once again, he is all alone.

Third truth he fears to be true: He and Thorin were never truly friends. He had gone back and forth on this truth as he traveled from Erebor. Some moments, he was more than sure that he and Thorin had become friends the moment they embraced on the Carrock. Other times, he berates himself because surely the Dragon Sickness, The Gold Madness, had not conjured Thorin's hate of him but played upon something that already existed. He has begun to wonder if the entire Company had merely been tolerating him, rather than cultivating true friendships.

The razor sharp sting of Dwalins words always rave back in those moments.

He huffs a harsh breath, his small hands wrapped tightly around the edges of the book he had been trying to read. He finds himself settled in a corner of the Library, now that he is somewhat free to roam. The tome he holds is almost larger than his lap but he has had little trouble with it beyond the fact that his concentration seems to have fled.

"Bilbo!!" The exhausted excitement in the speaking of his name draws him from his maudlin reflections.

Strider is standing a few feet from him, clad in dust covered traveling clothes. His youthful features are creased and tired and the Hobbit is immediately filled with sympathetic concern.

"Strider! What are you doing here?" He struggles to keep the bitterness and insecurities from his words but must fail. Because the Man instantly deflates, gaze dropping away. Bilbo could kick himself for causing that reaction. He quickly but carefully places the book to the side and stands.

"Lord Elrond said that you were up and about. I came straight away to see you. I am sorry for so rudely interrupting. I will take my leave." Seeing Strider preparing to turn and leave breaks something deep inside the poor little Hobbit. 

He launches himself forward before he can think on his actions. His trembling arms wrap desperately around Strider, his face pressed into the side of the Man as he fights with his warring emotions.

"Please .... don't leave, Strider. I'm sorry. I just... I thought maybe you didn't want to see me. Maybe ... maybe you did not actually think me a friend." It takes every last ounce of emotional strength he has to speak those words, leaving him feeling almost grateful that he is clinging to the Man or he would probably fall into an undignified heap.

"Bilbo ..." Striders voice is soft and tired but also a little fond. The Hobbit is surprised to find himself suddenly lifted with ease and once more cradled to the heart of the man. The feel of a warm, dirt crusted, sweaty nose gently nudging his own is enough to make him feel instantly drugged with calm happiness. He has not felt this sense of belonging since he was a fauntling. Definitely not since the loss of his parents. "Of course you are my friend. Had Lord Elrond not been close at hand to intercept my arrival, your room was my first destination. I have missed you, have worried for you during my absence. I am glad to see you so well mended." 

These were the kind of words he longed to hear from his Dwarrow but is so very happy to hear from his Man as well.

"I missed you, my young friend." He gently nudges the human nose with his own before he starts to scramble down. Only to find the arms tightening, keeping him pressed to the eager beat of Striders heart. 

Strider takes a deep breath and then several quick steps until he can lower himself on to the cushion Bilbo had occupied moments ago.

"Read to me, Bilbo?" The words are expressed in a tired but happy yawn as Strider carefully rearranges Bilbo until he is sitting with bis back pressed against he Man's chest. Strong arms are wrapped tenderly about his torso and Striders nose is buried in the tawny curl of his hair

"Of course, my dear." Bilbo pulls the tome into his lap as he cuddles back against the human.


	3. Like a Fauntling

Lord Elrond is preparing for the arrival of a small delegation. To his knowledge, there were to be but three or four elves. But still, things must be done! Rooms prepared, a feast laid out, the stables alerted. 

He is in the midst of issuing polite orders when he hears it.

It begins with the sound of large, bare feet slapping the floor. Now, he of course knows that the Hobbit is perfectly capable of moving silently. He could sneak up on just about anyone, maybe even Galadriel. Which means he is -purposefully- making so much noise. 

A part of him wishes to be kindly vexed with the creature, but all too fresh is the abject fear he had experienced when Estel brought the injured Hobbit to him. He had genuinely feared the poor, sweet, kind hearted creature might die. He is more than willing to let some shenanigans go, now that Bilbo is well again.

The next sound he hears is Estel letting out a rather undignified screech. Elrond quickly presses the curve of his palm to his mouth to stifle any laughter. It would not do to make such sounds in front of his people.

"My Lord?" The words are a hesitant question, drawing him back into the moment. Reminding him that life goes on and there are things to be done.

"Please make sure that the rooms are ready for our guests and that the stables are alerted to the arrival. I-'"

Before he can finish the instructions, a gleeful howl erupts followed by heavy human feet. 

Estel comes running into the room, water streaking the floor behind him. His hair and the collar of his shirt are a sopping mess. He also has Bilbo Baggins slung over his shoulder. The Hobbit is the one howling with laughter, kicking playfully where he's captured on his stomach.

"Estel! Bilbo!" For one moment, the Elf Lord is reminded if reprimanding his twin sons, which causes him to smile softly at the two.

Bilbo carefully splays his palms across Striders shoulder blade and manges to push himself up enough that he is capable of looking at Elrond and the other elves gathered. He firmly puts his softest, sweetest Baggins smile in place ... before reaching out and cuffing Strider on the side of the head.

Gently of course.

"He did it." Bilbo intones this accusation with such earnestness that Elrond cannot help smiling broadly. He may lose temporary face before his people but he is so happy to see the two enjoying themselves.

"I did no such thing, Master Hobbit! I was minding my own business, preparing to go for a walk when I found myself drenched by a bucket of water! I am the victim here!" Despite the accusation of the words, they are also playful and fond. 

"Lies and slander!" Bilbo practically squeaks the words even as Strider reaches up to start tickling one of his feet mercilessly, causing the Hobbit to wriggle and writhe against his shoulder.

As adorable as the display is, Elrond still has things that need doing and he cannot afford for this delegation to be disappointed.

"Enough, please. Both if you will retreat to the family areas and leave the guest areas alone. You will both be joining the main table tonight. There are guests arriving and I will have you both on your best behavior. Agreed?" 

He watches the human carefully pull the Hobbit off his shoulder. However, rather than place him back on his feet, Strider settles him in his arms and bows.

While still holding the Hobbit.

"Of course milord. " Bilbo is solemn and perfectly respectful and it causes the hair at the nape of Elronds neck to tingle because he -knows- that tone. Has heard it a hundred times from his sons. That does not bode well.

Before he can accuse the grown Hobbit of acting like a fauntling, however, Estel has swept them out of the room. With a weary but fond sigh, he returns to handing out instructions.

* * *

Bilbo and Strider had done as told. They retreated to the family area, Striders quarters first so that he could change. From there, they removed themselves to one of the open sitting rooms. Plush settes and cushioned benches surrounded a sparkling pool with water lilies floating across the surface and lined an open balcony that overlooked lush gardens. 

Strider has fallen upon his back on one of the settes on the balcony while Bilbo has settled on the side of the pool to run his little hand through the crisp waters.

"Bilbo?" The Man hums the name drousily, causing the Hobbit to grin fondly.

"Yes, dearheart?" He slowly weaves his hand close to a Lilly, watching the way it bobs and sways.

"How long are you staying?" While it is technically an easy question, there is something lurking deep in it's depths. It sounds vaguely like fear, but he cannot understand why that might be present.

"I'm not sure yet, dear. At least a few more weeks." In truth, he still cannot envision himself returning to the Shire yet. That thrice damned Wizard was all too correct ... this trip changed him so deeply.

".... can I come with you? When you leave?" Ah. Now that deep, dark note of fear is explained. Slowly, the Hoobit turns to glance at his friend and is surprised to find Strider peering anxiously over the arm of the sette looking so young and absolutely fragile. It breaks a part of his heart.

"Of course you can, dearheart. For as long as you want." And he would do anything in his power to protect this magnificent Man, this dear friend. 

No sooner has he turned back toward the water does he hear the soft creak of wood and fabric. Within a few moments, Strider has settled behind him. He cannot help the affectionate grin he sports when Strider oh so gently drapes himself across his back, putting just enough weight on the Hobbit for Bilbo to know he's there, without crushing him.

"I look forward to seeing the Shire, Bilbo." The Hobbit hums softly as he tucks himself a little closer into the embrace of his friend.


	4. The Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am destined to angst because apparently I have -waayyyyy- more feels for this pairing than I ever realized!!

Bilbo feels ... odd. His torn clothing has long since been replaced. His Hobbit attire was beyond saving and he -knows- that. But it still feels odd to look upon the beautiful things created just for him. 

The thought that some stranger went to all the trouble of crafting a dozen pieces of clothing ... it is technically such a simple thing and yet the gesture still robs him of some portion of his breath when he thinks on it.

Would any of the Company have done the same? Deep in his heart he -knows- they would have but insecurity is a cruel mistress that gives no quarter.

He absently fingers one of the tunics before he sighs. Truly, he has not the first clue what he should wear. He has never had to consider impressing a delegation before. Not really. 

"In my most humble opinion, Master Hobbit, the water blue would suit you most beautifully." The voice is not as deep as Lord Elronds but neither is it as cool as Thranduils. It is warm mischief tempered by court politics. It is a young voice painted the timbre of wisdom and heartache.

He jumps. Of course he does! The only voice to frequent his private quarters is that of Strider. To hear a strange yet familiar voice there? He spins around and nearly trips over his own bare feet when he sees a tall, beautiful, blond elf standing before him. He quickly executes a Dwarrow bow.

"Greetings, Prince Legolas. Bilbo Baggins, at your service." The true testament to the Prince's youth is put on display as a look of surprise crosses his beautiful features though he buries it quickly in favor of dipping his head in a kind greeting.

"I must confess, I am curious to know how a Hobbit knows of me, Master Baggins. I have not yet had the privilege to visit the Shire." Hmm, as diplomatic as Thranduil but far more charming. Which, in the opinion of this simple Hobbit, makes the Prince far more dangerous.

"I... I have met your Father, my Prince. The first time I had occasion to look upon him, I thought him .... less than ideal. But the second time I had occasion, he redeemed himself admirably. He gave me the means to escape a heartbreaking situation when even those I called friend would not help." The poor Hobbit quickly turns away from the elf Prince, his small hands trembling at his sides as he struggles against his memories of Dwalin splayed in the mud after his cruel words. 

He huffs an emotional breath before he grabs the water blue tunic top and lays it to the side.

In no way was he expecting to feel a hand pressed so tenderly to his shoulder. Nor a heartfelt, friendly squeeze.

"I am glad he made amends, Master Baggins. My ada is a good, caring King. Sometimes ... sometimes, he forgets to be kind, though." Bilbo finds himself leaning in to the touch of the Prince.

It is only then that he has a rather startling realization ... he is -touch starved-!! So many things over this last year suddenly make sense!!

His desperation to please Thorin, Gandalf, and the Company ... the fact that he put up with Beorn tickling his stomach and calling him Little Bunny ... most importantly ...... the fact that the single hug on the Carrock had felt more like Home than his own smial had.

It explains why Striders absence had hurt so deeply when he barely knows the Man. Why even the gentle touch of an elf he does not know comforts him so dearly.

He is touch starved. There has been no Mother to tuck him in, no Father to teach him, or siblings to prank him. No children of his own to cuddle and protect from the world at large.

His heart aches, now. Because somewhere along the way, he truly began to believe that he could have some of those things.

Bofur and Ori had become his siblings. 

Bofur, the protective but playful older brother that was always there with a kind smile and wonderful advice. The kind if brother that would rib you but then threaten anyone that so much as looked at you wrong.

Ori. The little brother Bilbo would give anything and -everything- to protect. The kind of brother he could gather in his lap and read to for hours. The kind of little brother that had followed him around asking a thousand questions and Bilbo -never- got tired of answering them. Because one of the most wonderful things he had ever seen was the way his little Ori would light up like the Sun with wonder and awe when they talked.

Fili and Kili. His boys. He has no claim on them. None at all. But still, they are HIS BOYS. 

Fili. His stalwart little Prince. Even with his mischief and his playful Mr. 'Boggins' he had been every bit the potential King. Every moment of their adventure, Bilbo was proud of his Prince.

Kili. Never was there such a beautiful  hearted creature. Kili is everything Bilbo could ever envision for a child. As quick to take care of one he loves as he is to prank them. Still innocent enough, despite everything his family suffered, to see beauty and hope in a ravaged world. His Kili would fit perfectly in the Shire.

Thorin. So many half formed thoughts flood his mind and steal his breath. He would not be so foolish as to try and assign a label to that particular dwarf. Beyond, maybe, simply, King. 

None of the other labels -fit- no matter how much he struggles to make them interlock and become the picture he desperately wants them to be.

After all, a King cannot be friends with a gentlehobbit of the Shire. No matter how many times you save their life or how much of yourself you sacrificed to put them back on their damn throne. 

And if something as simple as -friendship- is right out the window than nothing as complicated as heart and reason can be applied.

(An average, everyday, simple creature like a -HOBBIT- cannot be the -heart- of a King. No, that's what the thrice damned Arkenstone is. Nor could said Hobbit be the reason for anything a King might do.)

None of the labels Bilbo would give Thorin are realistic. Nor does he think they are things Thorin Oakenshield would ever want from him.

"Master Baggins ... please, do not cry." The quivering voice of the Elf Prince draws him from the nightmare thoughts his revelation begot and he can now taste the cascade of fat, hot tears raining down his cheeks and glazing his trembling lips. Can feel the almost violent tremor of his body down and into his bones as emotion ravages him.

Before he can fight through the tidal wave of his feelings and try to break through the surface of emotion to take a desperately needed breath, his feet leave the floor. He has been plucked easily up and into the consoling arms of the elf Prince. He does not hesitate, does not fight it.

He is touch starved and Hobbits never do well when they try to deny themselves any form of sustenance they require. So rather than try to pull away, that he might salvage some small sliver of his paltry dignity, he curls close to the cute elf, clinging to the comfort being offered. He goes so far as to press his tear soaked face in to the warm crook of Legolas' neck.

The Prince smells amazing! The scent of earth, trees, and basic musk is a soothing balm sorely needed. The warmth of a hand sliding along his back nearly brings him to tears, but he manages to keep them at bay.

"T-thank you, my Prince. "

His words stumble and stutter but are obviously heartfelt. Legolas tightens his hold ever so slightly before he carefully leans down to nuzzle the nest of his tawny copper curls. This action wrests a happy sigh from the Hobbit who is content to take comfort where he can find it.

"Bilbo, I --" Striders happy voice screeches to a frayed stop when he turns the corner and finds his friend being snuggled in mid air. It would be almost comical, were it not painful, to watch the emotions playing across the young Man's face. " Who are you? This area is restricted to -family- only. Now put my friend down!" There is a thread of steel in the voice of the irate human. His hands have risen, fingers flexing reflexively, obviously itching to yank his Hobbit from eleven hands.

Almost hysterically, Bilbo cannot help but compare the desire to Thorin. Even if the dwarf King had banished him with such passionate hate, he would demand Bilbo be released rather than stomach him in the embrace of an elf.

Bilbo reluctantly struggles from the arms of Legolas, shifting uncomfortably on his bare feet.

"Strider, this is Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil. This, my Prince, is my friend Strider." Striders nostrils flare even as he begins to edge toward the Hobbit.

"It is an honor to meet you, Strider." Legolas offers a diplomatic smile even as Strider finally reaches Bilbo's side. It is not until his fingers have plunged into his tawny curls that he manages to relax enough to demonstrate any form of courtesy.

"Greetings, Prince Legolas. I did not realize you were a friend of Bilbo." The Hobbit finds himself quietly amused by the in no way subtle sort if pseudo claim the Man is trying to place on him. 

"I do truly hope that we shall be the best of friends." The Prince smiles serenely at the Hobbit, causing him to blush even as he bobs his head in agreement.

"So, the water blue you say?" Legolas beams with a smile and nods before he takes his leave. Strider immediately begins to help him pick out clothes for the meal.


	5. Of Father and Sons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm ... might need tissues? I'm not really sure. Bilbo decided his story needs to be heard.

Dinner was a quiet, slightly awkward affair. 

For the most part, everything was alright. There were light conversations following simple topics. The weather, the feel of Middle Earth calming down but in that way that feels more like preparation for something yet to come than any actual reprieve.

And then there were stilted moments.

These most often came when anyone tried to draw Strider and Legolas into the conversation at the same time. They would try to out do one another or talk over the other. Any time Bilbo gave an opinion, they tried to be the first and the loudest to agree with him. While it mildly annoyed the Hobbit, Lord Elrond was forced to hide behind his napkin on several occasions to smother the need to giggle at their silliness. The rest of the delegation seemed blissfully unaware of the almost childish power struggle going on between Elf and Man.

In the end, Bilbo had excused himself early, glaring Strider and Legolas into submission when they both offered to accompany him then sneered at each other. 

On his way back to his rooms, he realized, with a certain sense of hysteria, that this was the beginning of a strange rivalry. 

At least it would prove amusing. Hopefully.

* * *

It began with flowers, of all things.

Legolas arrived with a beautiful, silver vase full of a vibrant daisy bouquet. They were sweet and shown like sunlight on his table. They were elegant and kind, just as he viewed the Prince to be.

Two days later, as they were discussing a tome Bilbo was in the midst of reading, Strider burst into the room like an element of nature. His hair was windswept, his eyes wild and energetic. He was also wearing one of the most beautiful smiles filled with child like wonder as he thrust a lopsided clay vase at him.

Inside that vase, a bouquet of stargazer lilies that took his breath away and brought him to joyous tears.  They were his mother's favorite but had been unavailable in the Shire for the past three years. Strider had gone in search of them once he knew what they meant to the Hobbit.

The Elf Prince had begrudgingly complimented the unique beauty of the blooms.

After that, of course, came food. 

Bilbo had once again found his favorite spot in the Library, reclining on the sinfully soft pillows as he studied a book that surprised him greatly ... a tome of Hobbit poetry he has never heard of before.

Strider had come waltzing around the stacks, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. The second Bilbo acknowledged his presence, he was on his back, head pillowed in Bilbo's lap, brandishing a small cloth bag filled with a variety of sugar crusted nuts. They were delicious, of course, and easily shared between them.

Not half an hour later, Legolas had entered in almost the exact same way. Though, being an elf, he managed to make his bouncing steps seems slightly more refined. In his hands sat a wooden plate. Atop it, spiced meat pies decorated with flowers and vines made of buttery, flaky crust. Bilbo had nearly shed tears when Legolas confirmed that it was a Hobbit recipe. He pulled the Prince down and climbed into his lap. Once he had pulled Strider close, he shared the treat between them.

Through clenched jaw and grinding teeth, Strider complimented the taste of the pies.

From there it became a free-for-all!!

He would find all kinds of things being offered him for no particular reason. 

Legolas presented him with a majestic elk carved of beautiful, white Aspen wood. Bilbo had slid his thumb across one of the antlers and proclaimed it the prettiest carving he had received. He was surprised to see such a confident, regal elf as Prince Legolas blush at the compliment.

Strider appeared one night, shortly before Bilbo was to retire to sleep, clutching a pristine, leather bound book filled with dense, cream paper stock. Completely blank, ready for Bilbo to fill the pages with his own heart. He had clutched the Man to him in a tight embrace and thanked him profusely.

Sweets, candied leaves, interesting books and pretty little carvings ... all of these things found themselves in his possession and he hadn't the faintest clue why!

* * *

For a full month, he had been inundated by gifts from his two odd, dear friends. Surely, he should have seen it coming. Should have assumed that eventually one or the other would gift him something that would -hurt-. That would summon memories better left forgotten. Memories that were chased away by warm friendship and the sense of family he had found in Rivendell.

It began as most afternoons for him did. Usually, he would be reading or tending to one of the gardens before he would join Elrond for lunch. The Elf Lord had become a kind fatherly figure to the Hobbit and he cherished their shared meals and easy conversation.

He had just departed Elrond's company and was on his way to the balconies near his rooms when Legolas and Strider both came running full tilt around the corner.

"Bilbo!" They both call out in ecstatic happiness upon seeing him, before turning to jostle each other with affronted glares. This draws a bit of a smile from him, still warmed by their silly, sweet antics. They so remind him of his Boys.

"Hello, my lovelies. Its great to see you both again. How can I help you?"

"I have something for you!" Again, a mirrored exclamation that had them glaring angrily at one another.

"I was here first, boy!" Legalos practically sneers the words, causing Strider to huff a somewhat impressive growl before leveling the Elf with an icy scowl.

"Bilbo was my friend first,  you spoiled brat!" All amusement instantly drains from the Hobbit as he watches his dear, beloved friends square off, prepared to fight over something so preposterous.

"ENOUGH! Why should I accept a present from either of you when you cannot have even the most basic sense of kindness and acceptance for each other?? Why can you not accept that I Iove you both? You are my kith, my sweet boys." He blinks back the sudden assault of bitter salt at the corners of his eyes. "Do you not understand how it breaks my heart to see you compete so? I would have my two dearest friends peaceful and kind with one another. If this is the only way you can treat each other, then ... then I am afraid I can call neither of you friend any longer. I will take my leave." He turns on trembling legs then, hands tight fists at his sides as he begins to walk away.

"Bilbo!!" Elf and Man exclaim wretchedly. In the next moment, hands clasp tightly at the back hem of his tunic, desperately trying to halt his retreat. 

"Please forgive us, dearheart." Legolas' voice is smoky gravel with his emotions and it plucks at Bilbo's heartstrings. 

"We promise to do better, Bilbo. Please, just .... just don't leave us." Strider's voice cracks on his plea and Bilbo nearly falls over on his haste to turn toward them. How cruel his threat had been!! Poor Strider had no family left and Legolas might as well not for how cold and distant his Father had become.

"Forgive me my lovelies. I did not mean to be cruel. I will not leave either of you. You are my own." He falls to his knees, gathering each of them into his arms, guiding their foreheads to his shoulders as he rains gentle kisses upon their temples.

* * *

Eventually, they move. Bilbo places his  back against the wall, gathering the two close so that they are draped across his sides. Each has a hand clutched in the fabric of his shirt. They had presented their gifts and Bilbo had nearly come to tears again. Silly little Hobbit trinkets that he had truly never thought to see the like of again.

"I had not thought to see Shire things again. I had thought myself destined for a much different kind of home." 

"What kind of home, Adar?" (Father) Legolas' voice is a soft, drousing murmur as he absently rubs his cheek on Bilbo's shoulder.

"A mountain home, inudoy." (Son) He sighs softly, his eyes closing tightly. "Would you like to hear a story, my boys?" When they both give sleepy, happy sounds, he smiles despite himself.

"There was once a beautiful, renowned mountain kingdom named Erebor. It was rich with gold and gems, with coins and jewelry that gleamed brighter than even the Evanstar." Striders drowsy, slurred -never- makes both Hobbit and Elf giggle goodnaturedly. "All was peaceful and prosperous until the fire drake Smaug the Terrible came to the mountain to claim the treasure for his own, displacing the poor Dwarrow that called that beautiful mountain home." Bilbo sucks in a deep breath, blinking back tears yet again. His emotions an unrelenting beast refusing to give him peace. "For years the Dwarrow roamed, plying their trades to feed their kith and kin until one day, the would be King Under the Mountain decided to reclaim his homeland. This is the story of how a simple Hobbit somehow managed to join that Company and help in every little way he could ...."

And so he tells them of his perilous, unexpected journey. They squeeze him with affectionate pride as he speaks of the moments he managed to save the lives of his fellow adventurers. (He is very careful never to call any of the Dwarrow friend.) 

They tremble with moments of panic to hear of the life threatening moments he faced, as if afraid that these past happenings will somehow reach into the present and rob them of their Adar. 

When he speaks quietly of rescuing the Company from Thranduil and the ride on the side of a barrel, Legolas presses his face forcefully against Bilbo's heart and cries softly, whispering sorry over an over, trying to shoulder the burden of his Kings decision. 

When he speaks of Smaugs fire and their shared words, he feels them quake. But when he speaks of the Battle of Five Armies, they sob, tender and wretched as he rocks them lovingly in his arms, pausing often to comfort them as he tells them of war.

"But why are you here, Adar, and not in the mountain?" The words sound as if they physically hurt Strider to speak, and they do. The young Man fears that the words will somehow spirit Bilbo right away from them.

"Because, inudoy, I was banished by the King Under the Mountain. I was branded a traitor and told never to return. It does not matter what role I played. Th-Thorin had .. every right. It .. it's his kingdom." Oh so gently, sweetly, Elf and Man reach out to wipe the tears from his slightly feverish cheeks. 

"My Prince. I am sorry to interrupt, but a message has arrived for you." One of the delegation appears, awkward but kind as he holds something out to the Prince, exiting quickly given the familial sense of the moment he intruded on.  

"What is it, Legolas?" The elf begins to look more and more upset as he reads. By the end of the letter, his eyes are wide and his body tense with discomfort.

"My King has written to inform me that I am to leave Rivendell ... and I am to head to Erebor to represent him at the Coronation of the King Under the Mountain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the road to Erebor!


	6. The Road to Erebor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm not w entirely happy with the little song I wrote but I hope it sounds Hobbit-y enough.

For two weeks, Bilbo shut himself up in his rooms. Strider and Legolas were allowed admittance a few times, and Elrond had invaded the moment he found out something was wrong. He had settled at the side of Bilbos bed, as he often had for his own children, and reminded the Hobbit that whatever may happen, he would always be family, would always have a home with them.

Though the words were a comfort, they reduced Bilbo to tears because he firmly believed that he would never have a home in the mountain he helped liberate. The home he had fought and nearly died for. So it is moving to be welcomed here.

At the end of those two weeks, he emerged from his rooms feeling more tired than he had in a long time, but also more alive. He no longer felt as if he had been merely surviving but instead, as if he had finally begun to move toward the future, whatever that might be.

He was in no way prepared for Elrond to summon him to the gardens, where Legolas and Strider were already waiting for him. Nor was he prepared for Elrond to ask him to accompany Legolas to Erebor. Apparently, the Elf Lord wished for the Hobbit and the Man to represent Rivendell at the coronation.

No matter how many times his boys joked about it later, he did not faint.

He passed out. 

Somehow, that sounded much better, no matter how much it made his boys snicker and giggle.

* * *

The second time Bilbo packs for a trip to Erebor, he is much better equipped than the first. Mithril under his clothes, Sting at his side, a knife at the ready, and the kind of supplies that might actually be useful. 

The one thing -worse- than the first trip? He cannot ride a pony while his two companions ride full grown horses. As one might assume, a verbal argument ensued over who would get to carry Bilbo first. 

Of course, being the mature, responsible, ADULT Hobbit that he is ... Bilbo threatened to lash them both to one horse and leave them tied up right outside of Rivendell.

So it was decided that they would switch off carrying him. That seemed the simplest way though he holds no illusions that his boys will not argue over it again at some point.

The first leg of the journey is easy, since they aren't being chased by orcs, trolls, goblins, or wargs. There is no one to escape or outsmart. They sleep rough and move on. 

Though, from a distance, Bilbo points out the cinder-scarred trees where the eagles saved them. They also camp in the shadow of the Carrock, with Bilbo taking first watch.

He smiles as his boys trade stories of their youth until Strider falls asleep midsentence. He is only a little surprised when Legolas settles next to him, carefully tucking a shared blanket about them.

"... is there no way to avoid the Greenwood, Adar?" There is such a note of hope in the elf's voice that it breaks his heart, and if they were not on a deadline, he would oblige him instantly. 

The last thing he wants to do is bring pain to his dearheart. He remembers the horrors of traveling there and cannot imagine how hard it must be to see your home slowly rotting from the inside out.

"I'm sorry, dearheart, but we must travel through. We would never arrive in time if we went around." He does not bother admitting that he doesn't want to be making this trip in the first place. The thought if returning to Erebor is not a pleasant one. In fact, he has been silently wondering if Elrond is punishing him for something.

"I understand." Bilbo removes the blanket and carefully shifts Legolas around in front of him until he is laid on his back, head pillowed in Bilbo's lap, blanket spread over him. 

"Try and sleep, Legolas. I will watch over you tonight." He leans down to press a kiss to the forehead of the Prince.

"Will you .. please .. sing to me, Adar?" The request is so shy and hopeful that Bilbo actually blushes.

"Of course, Kidhuzurâl." (Golden One) He leans back to glance at the sky, trying to think of what to sing.

"Oh my dear, my dear,   
Won't you please, oh please  
Meet me at the party tree?

In your golden hair  
Oh so fair, so fair,   
I will braid sweet pea

And maybe, oh maybe,   
My sweet little bliss,  
We shall have our first kiss.

But if, oh but if  
You should not be there,  
Still my heart I'll lay bare ..."

His words cut off abruptly when he feels the molten sting of tears. The song, not exactly a wise choice for a lullaby, causes something raw and malcontent to bubble up inside  of him. Because it is all too easy to picture a scene that will never play out. 

Thorin would look regal and beautiful, somehow wild and yet tamed, kneeling among the roots of the party tree. Bilbo would braid lavender heather and white heather into the dwarf's hair. Thorin would braid beads into his curls and they would exchange pledges of devotion.

He squeezes his eyes closed so tight that it hurts, cursing his imagination for torturing him so. Once he has managed to cease his silly tears, he is relieved to find Legolas sleeping soundly.

* * *

"We're off track." Strider huffs the words gently but with obvious irritation, dragging Bilbo from a light doze. He looks around for a moment before his head cants back, that he can look up at the Man.

"Yes, we are. We are -very- much off track and we will -remain- off track Because I am a Hobbit and I do -not- like carrots that much! I live in a Hobbit -smial- NOT in a bloody Warren, thank you very much! I am NOT a --" His angry rant is suddenly cut off by a loud, booming laugh that sounds a bit like boulders being bashed together.

"Little Bunny." Bilbo jerks against Strider in surprise at the sound of -that- voice. The one he had hoped to avoid. Beorn seems to appear out of nowhere and easily lifts Bilbo away from the Man. "Were you going to pass without saying hello, my Little Bunny? Not nice." Instantly, Strider has drawn his sword, Legolas his bow. Seemingly unconcerned, Beorn loops Bilbo easily on his shoulder, as if he were a parrot. He eyes the other two coolly, though his words are friendly enough. "And this time, you brought Family." 

"Boys! Lower your weapons, please. I am not in danger. Nor am I a Bunny." Long gone is the more demure, stuttering Hobbit. In fact, Bilbo reaches down and pinches the skinchangers ear. The mighty man simply laughs and pats him. "This is Beorn. He helped the Company some time back. I wasn't sure if you would be alright with me visiting." Beorn sniffles slightly and shakes his head, causing Bilbo to practically cling to his neck to avoid toppling off.

"You are always welcome, Little Bunny. Your family is welcome for the night. Keep up!" He turns and leads them away.

* * *

Strider looks a little twitchy as he watches the animals serving the meal. Legolas is trying to look cool and unaffected but Bilbo knows him well enough to spot the tension there.

"As last time, do no leave once dark has settled." His Boys nod curtly and Bilbo nearly growls as one of the servers noses a full carrot onto his plate. His time with the Dwarrow has changed him enough that he finds himself contemplating jamming the carrot somewhere uncomfortable on his friends body. "So tell me, Little Bunny, what brings you and your Kits here?" The word kits draws an exasperated sigh from Bilbo, but he ignores the comment for now.

"We are headed to Erebor.. for the coronation. Legolas is to represent the Greenwood while Strider and I will represent Rivendell." He smiles at his Boys as they both puff up a bit with pride. 

"Enjoy the meal. You and your kits can share a bed." He waves his hand in a General direction before exiting the home.

Bilbo glances at his boys, sighing.

"Finish up and we will get some sleep."

* * *

Morning comes quicker than Bilbo would've liked. He awakes to find himself caged in. Legolas is pressed to his left side, an arm extended over him so that his hand is wrapped in Strider's tunic. Strider is, of course, mirroring his action. The Hobbit allows himself to take comfort in the knowledge that there are people who love him. 

"Little Bunny. Kits. Wake up." Strider and Legolas both roll toward the outside of the bed. Legolas manages to catch himself with ease, gracefully gliding to his feet.

Strider falls flat on the floor, cursing softly.

"I am alright!" A hand comes up, over the edge of the bed and waves energetically. Bilbo presumes that the action is meant to reassure him. While glad that the Man is okay, he snickers as well.

Once dressed, Bilbo stumbles to the table. He's still just asleep enough that he doesn't even squeak or protest when he finds himself lifted into Beorn's lap. The mighty creature begins to pet a hand through his curls and he is very nearly appalled to realize he is close to making some kind of purring sound at the action.

Across the table, his boys look as if they are plotting some way to snatch him out of Beorn's grasp. He really does love those two. So peotective, loyal, and sweet.

"I have decided to meet you outside of Dale. Wait for me there and we will approach Erebor together."

Wait ... what?? He cannot imagine Beorn wanting to attend a coronation or something of that nature. And yet, the thought of having to face the Company is daunting, if not a little terrifying. It would be a confidence booster to have a massive skinchanger on his side.

"Of course, Master Beorn." Legolas, ever the diplomat, smiles politely as he eats.

"Good. Eat and then be on your way. I will see you soon, Bilbo Baggins." Beorn ruffles through his curls one more time before placing him into a chair to eat.

* * *

The trip through the Greenwood is quick and easy with Legolas to guide them. Bilbo is filled with waking nightmares of his first trek through this place. So painful are his memories, in fact, that he does not flinch or whine when Leglas picks him up and carries him like a babe. 

Because he keeps hearing echoes of the Company ... keeps seeing ghosts of their presence and on more than one occasion he nearly breaks down in sobs when he remembers clinging to those he had thought of as his friends. 

How are they? Have they found happiness in their reclaimed home?? Despite the torrent of bitter emotion he truly hopes they are comfortable and happy. Each and every one of them.

"Someone is coming." Strider hisses the words even as he draws his sword. Once on his feet, Bilbo draws Sting and Legolas draws his daggers.

"My Prince." A curt, feminine voice draws their attention as a group of five elves in cloaks surround them.

"Ariannei. You're on patrol?" Legolas tries to keep the surprise out of his voice but the controlled facade of a Prince has some what escaped him and Bilbo knows that it is his fault. Legolas had been so free to be himself while in their company, that he has somewhat forgotten how to be the Kings Heir.

"Yes. Due to your absence, many positions have shifted. The people are scrambling to take up the slack. Our King has summoned you." She glances at Bilbo and Strider, her expression haughty. "They will come, too."

Bilbo's hand tightens on Sting for a moment, eyes narrowed. Were he an animal, his hackles would be raised. As is, his boys are smart enough to see what is coming, made evident by the fact they take two steps back.

"Excuse me ... Ariannei, was it? Don't bother answering, dear, because I don't actually care one way or the other. In fact, I believe I shall simply call you Rude from now on. After all, one's name should fit their personality. So, Rude, as demanding and annoying as your 'invitation' was, I do believe we will be declining. We are on a tight schedule. Please tell King Thranduil that if he wishes Legolas to attend him, he should send someone with actual manners. Someone with a little more tact and a lot less self pity." He cannot help but smile at the spluttering breath the elf gives, her beautiful features redefining in anger as her gaze hardens. 

"Now you see here, halfling. You are an unwanted stranger in these woods! How dare you speak to me that way!" Before he can react, he finds himself lifted by the sides, fingers digging into the material of his tunic until nails bite into his flesh.

"Do NOT call him a -halfling-!" Strider practically roars those words even as Legolas steps toward the elf.

"He is half of -nothing-, Ariannei! Nor is he an unwanted -anything-! Bilbo Baggins is here for me and that is all you need know. Now release him!" There is authority in the voice, but  there is more than just that. The elf Prince is angry. So much so he is practically vibrating with it.

Once his feet are back on the ground, Bilbo smooths his tunic and turns toward his boys.

"We will follow you, Ariannei. But if you touch Bilbo again, I will send you back to the King in disgrace." The three of them move closer together and follow the seething elf.

* * *

Bilbo wishes he never had to see this place again. He still has the occasional nightmare about sneaking around, being cut off from the Company, forced to steal enough food to survive.

"Legolas. I expected your return sooner. Why are you just now here?" Thranduil is cold and rigid as ever. He has not glanced at any of them, not even his Son. Bilbo is overcome by the desire to bite one of his pointed ears bloody but manages to refrain.

"Your letter specified only that I needed to attend the coronation, not that I was needed in the Greenwood before hand. I decided to travel with Bilbo and Strider, as our destination is the same." All of the warmth and friendliness he has come to associate with Legolas has disappeared, replaced with an icy diplomacy that makes the Hobbit feel almost physically ill.

"Ah yes. Bilbo Baggins. I had not thought to see you again after your hasty retreat from Erebor. In truth, I expected you to meet some ill fate on your journey back to ... wherever it was you came from." The King still has yet to look at them and Bilbo's sudden bout of bloodlust intensifies. After the ear, he's pretty sure he's going after his nose. If its a mangled, bloody mess, he'll no longer be able to look down it at folks again.

He entertains himself with these thoughts as the insufferable prat continues.

"I am also surprised that you are returning to Erebor after fleeing it so swiftly before. As I recall, the dust had barely settled before you ran away." Forget the ear and nose. He wants to go straight for his heart! If he truly believed the creature had one. Considering how touch starved Legolas seems to be ... he had a feeling Thranduil has been without a heart for some time now.

"He did not run away!" Legolas practically marches to Bilbo's side, placing a hand on his shoulder as he glares at the King. "How dare you speak in such a cruel, despicable way about him!" The elf Prince seems torn between anger on Bilbo's behalf and pain at hearing his King speak like this.

"Peace, Legolas." He murmurs soothingly before turning his gaze on Thranduil. The King has finally deigned to look at them. Rather than show anger, embarrassment, or any if the other emotions Thranduil probably expected ... he shows only sadness, disappointment, and above all ... pity.

"I had thought to see the King of the Greenwood. But instead, I find a fauntling dishing out childish taunts and vitriol. You sound like nothing less than a bitter, jaded fool pretending to be King." Bilbo does not raise his voice. He simply sighs in disgust,  hands planted on his hips as he stares at the elf. "You hide away here as the rest of the world passes you bye and somehow seem to think yourself worthy of the moral high ground. Meanwhile, your people are egotistical and devoid of manners and you do not even have the common decency to look at your Son while you are giving him a most undeserved dressing down." When he feels Legolas tighten his hand on his shoukder, he wants to reassure him but he can't. Not yet.

"Legolas .. Strider ... wait for me by the gate. Go on, boys." He soothes as softly as he can, trying to keep them from protesting. They leave the throne room silently, reluctantly, leaving him alone with the seething King. 

Normally, he would keep his cool. Normally, he wouldn't even be in this situation.

Normal went out the window once he decided to go on an adventure. His actions and reactions mutated the more he was forces to fight for his life and the lives of those he loved.

So, rather than react as he normally would, he marches right up to the seated King, wraps his hands in the front of his tunic ... and proceeds to shake him with all of his might, causing the King to hiss in surprise.

"I may be a small Hobbit from a land you care to know nothing of, but I will not sit idly by while you disrespect me and my boys. I honestly do not care -why- you think yourself worthy of such ignorant, abhorrent displays of superiority. All I care about .. is the dishonor you have brought upon your son and the people of the Greenwood. You are laughable and worthy only of my pity. You are no King. You are a joke. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll show myself out." He releases the king with a sniff and a hrmph before he turns and practically stalks from the throne room and back to the gate to meet his boys.

He is in no way surprised when they both descend on him, squishing him between them in a desperate, needy, clinging hug. 

"Come on, lads. We're nearly there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower Meanings:
> 
> Sweet Pea - Delicate Pleasure, Bliss
> 
> Lavender Heather - Admiration, Solitude, and Beauty
> 
> White Heather - Protection, Wishes Will Come True


	7. Dale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! There will be actual Thorin in this chapter! But be warned, he's a maudlin, melancholic mess. For now.

In the months since his departure, Dale is already much improved. It lay on the horizon like a pile of colorful bunting. Tents of all color, shape, and size are spread through ruined buildings and rebuilt walls. Even from this distance, Bilbo can hear children playing, merchants selling their wares. 

In fact, it sounds enough like the Shire from a distance, that he feels a momentary pang of longing. Though not for home, just for the Shire. Because in this moment, he realizes that the Shire is the place of his birth,  but not -home- any longer.

He carefully shakes himself out, forcing his mind back to the moment. Because on the other side of Dale rests his almost-home and he is surprised and confused to realize that he is actually looking forward to showing his boys the mountain.

Speaking of his boys ... they have been hovering in the background, a gentle air of nervousness edging about them that Bilbo cannot understand. While they are both excited to see his home, there's no reason for them to be so anxious about it.

"Adar?" It is surprising to hear the word from Strider, but not unwanted. In fact, Bilbo finds himself beaming at the label. He turns away from his view of the mountain, confused to see his boys standing side by side, hands behind their backs and twin expressions of apprehension on their youthful features.

"Yes, inùdoy?" He murmurs gently, looking between the two. His boys share a glance before they both drop to their knees before him, smiling shyly. 

"We bare you gifts, Adar." Legolas' cheeks pinken ever so slightly as he carefully pulls a small bundle from behind him and settles it on the ground.

Bilbo stares at it blankly for a moment before he carefully unwraps the bundle. His breath leaves him in a gentle gasp. A beautiful tunic of light leaf green is folded with a pair of ear cuffs on top. They are made of thin silver with emeralds grouped as leaves and little bits of tempered jewel glass that are a mix of green and blue.

"That was the tunic I was crowned Prince in. And the cuffs ... they were my first set of jewels. You are better than any King or Prince I have ever known, Adar. They are befitting of you." He reaches out to draw Legolas into an almost bone crushing hug, peppering his face with kisses.

"Thank you, inùdoy, thank you so much!" He does not truly believe himself worthy of such prized possessions, but he is proud to have them none the less.

Once he has managed to let Legolas go, he turns to an equally flustered Strider. Gently, his youngest places a second bundle on the ground and yet again, he cannot help but hesitate before he opens it. Because he cannot believe he will be any more deserving of it's contents.

Inside are a pair of black breeches done in the style of men, with laces to close them. Atop of those, a most beautiful circlet that seems an amalgamation of Elven and Man in design. Its a single piece of tempered gold flattened then carved to look like ivy with a few red jewel chips here and there. 

It is not showy, is not dripping with jewels or anything but still a rich, beautiful piece. He does not feel worthy of it.

"When Lord Elrond agreed to foster me for a time, he had his sons forge this for me. As you are his representative and ... and my Adar ... I want you to have it, Bilbo." The Hobbit is trembling, eyes wide and tear stained as he draws Strider into his arms.

"Ioneg (My son) .. thank you ..." Much as with Legolas, he peppers Strider's face with happy kisses before he turns and disappears. 

It doesn't take long for him to scrub the grime of travel away and dry off. He dresses in the clothes and jewelry gifted him despite the fact that it makes him feel rather foolish. He is a gentlehobbit, not some noble Man, Elf, or even Dwarf worthy of such things, but he is more than proud to wear the gifts bestowed him by his sons.

He carefully threads the sword belt containing Sting around his waist then combs his fingers through his curls. 

"Am I presentable, dearhearts?" He questions with only a faint air of self doubt. The sound of Legolas clapping his hands in delight, coupled with Strider's gasp of happiness helps  assuage  some of his fears. 

"You look splendid, Adar." Legolas reaches out to gently tug one of his curls and he beams up at his Elf son.

"Very regal, Adar. I believe you will even outshine the King-to-be." Bilbo giggles nervously at Strider's words. Because there is simply no way he would do such a thing. 

Thorin is regal beauty personified. Everything elegant and chiseled a King should be. Bilbo is just a Hobbit, nothing so deserving ... he shakes his head quickly to clear it, smiling at his boys. 

Both of them are observant enough to realize the action does not reach their Fathers usually expressive eyes, and it hurts. But they do not know how to help him save what they usually do ...

They quickly envelope him between them, holding him hostage in their embrace.

"We love you, Adar."

"Never forget that." Strider begins the comforting words and Legolas ends them.

"Thank you, my dears." The Hobbit pulls away in just enough time to whirl around at the sound of thundering steps and on instinct, to try and shield his much larger sons with his much smaller body.

Beorn approaches in bear form, nose tipped to the air as he sniffs Bilbo and his sons out. 

"Beorn." He manages to whisper, thrown to see the massive bear up close.

"How beautiful." Legolas fasps with the kind of reverence elves are known for, while Strider gapes a little in wonder.

"How impressive." The Man murmurs even as Beorn carefully lays on his stomach, tossing his head in the direction of his back. 

It only takes a moment for the Hobbit to understand. He buries his fingers in the soft fur and carefully scales the bear until he's nestled easily on his back. A soft, but deep growl prompts his boys to scramble up and join him.

Once they are seated, the skinchanger turns and bears them toward Dale.

* * *

The citizens of Dale are immediately in an uproar. Never have they seen such a massive creature bearing down on them. Not since Smaug, at least. The feel of fear and panic, coupled with the kind of curiosity humans are known for, is almost palpable in the streets as the strange entourage passes.

Several people wonder why a child is seated on such a creature, whispering about the possibility of what they could want or who they are. The general consensus is that they are an Elven delegation given the presence of the blond elf and the pointed ears of the child.

The bear continues through the streets until the path to Erebor is visible. It is only then that anyone seems to find the courage to approach. 

A young human child, roughly nine or ten years old rushes toward the bear, pointing at the 'child' with unabashed wonder and glee.

"You're Bilbo Baggins, you are!" The girls words are an awed shout as she bounces on her bare, dirty feet. "Master Ori speaks of you often! But ain't you dead, Mister??" 

The words draw a gasp from the two boys as they quickly tighten their hold on the Hobbit.

"Yes, I am Bilbo Baggins, at your service, Little Miss. And I assure you, I am very much alive. I have no clue why Master Ori would say otherwise." The Hobbit finds himself fighting against a feeling of dread deep in his gut. 

"Master Ori is ever so sad, Master Baggins. Sometimes, he cries when he tells stories about you. You shouldn't make him cry like that, it's mean!" 

For a single, horrible moment, he wants to snap at the girl. Wants to tell her that it's not -his- fault they let him be threatened and banished. However, before he can say anything, a familiar, gruff voice is snapping through the air.

"Amalla! Get on home, girl. Your Ma is having a fit. Ori has started lessons. If you don't get there soon, he won't let you sit in." Bilbo sucks in a quiet but distressed breath.

A dwarf is walking toward them, though his gaze is downcast. Bilbo would recognize the tattooed head anywhere, despite the sheer shock of seeing Dwalin completely clean shaven. No sideburns, moustache, or beard. A bare bit of stubble but nothing else. The dwarf is not even carrying his weapons!

Bilbo gasps when he remembers what that means. 

Dwalin is in shame. 

"D-Dwalin?!" The name stumbles rough and confused from his tongue. Dwalin's head snaps up, eyes wide in shock.

"B-B-Bilbo?!" His voice cracks and breaks, the name fairly butchered by the flow of emotion it's carried on. "By Mahal ... how .. how is this possible, lad?" Before the Hobbit can respond, he's ripped carefully from Strider and Legolas' arms and smashed against Dwalin's chest. He can feel the larger dwarf pressing his face against his curls, clinging to him. He carefully wraps his arms around the dwarf.

"That girl .. she said that I was dead .. what's going on here, Dwalin? Why .. why are you shamed?" Dwalin has begun to shudder. Nothing overt, just a fair tremble through his limbs and it is worrisome to the Hobbit. He has always seen Dwalin as the strongest of the Dwarrow. Even stronger than Thorin in many ways. 

"Because I got you killed!" Not the words the Hobbit was expecting! He quickly pulls back from the dwarf, though he allows his hands to slide up and grip at his biceps. Not yet willing to sever the connection completely. "We sent word to the Shire, to Beorn, to everywhere we could think of but no one had seen you! Me and Bofur even went to Hobbiton. Some fiery, foul tempered woman named Lobelia said that you were dead. She's living in Bag End, said that it was hers by law, now that you're dead. We thought ... assumed she had proof. When we got back to Erebor .. I gave everything up. All of my most prized things .. the horrible things I said to you ... letting you ride out of Erebor like that. I shamed myself by turning my back on my kin. I'm so sorry, Bilbo. Please forgive me." He cannot remember a time he heard Dwalin so pained or earnest. He yanks the dwarf into him, hugging him as tightly as he can.

"I forgive you, Dwalin. Things that were said in the heat of the moment are forgotten, nadad." (Brother) Bilbo nearly stops breathing when the Khuzdul word drags a single dry, desperate, emotion laden sob from the dwarf.

"Thank you, nadad. I am honored to have a brother such as you." Dwalin pulls back then, reluctantly letting his arms fall from the Hobbit. It is only now that he seems to truly take in the scene before him. Namely Beorn in bear form, with an Elf and Man still on his back. Gaping at the dwarf and Hobbit with a sense of deep seated concern for Bilbo.

"Hello, Beorn. And who are these lads, then?" Bilbo watches as they both slide off the back of Beorn.

"Strider .." Perfectly executed Dwarrow bow.

"And Legolas..." Another perfectly executes Dwarrow bow.

"At your service." They intone together before moving to put a hand on either of Bilbo's shoulders.

"You ... You have inùdôy?" (Sons) Dwalin stumbles over the words, but already Bilbo is nodding.

"Yes. They are my boys. They call me Adar and I am pleased by this. They .. they are not my blood but they -are- mine." They both lean down to nuzzle at his shoulders, making him beam.

"There will be ... mixed reactions from the Company. Though mostly, they are going to be overwhelmed to realize that you are alive. Kili .... Kili has especially been taking it hard. He can barely speak of you without losing a part of himself. Fili, too, has mourned you deeply." Strider and Legolas exchange wary glances.

"And who are Fili and Kili, Master Dwalin?" Legolas tilts his head ever so slightly, his curiosity getting the better of him. Dwalin looks between Father and Sons and chuckles roughly.

"Fili and Kili are your cousins, lads. They are part of the Company that helped reclaim Erebor, just as your adad (Father) was." They once again beam proudly at Bilbo, causing him to blush faintly. "I would carry word ahead of your arrival, nadad, but I am required elsewhere. Go to he gates and announce your reason. The guards will let you through." Dwalin hugs him one last time before letting the three of them reclaim their place on the back of Beorn.

Bilbo takes a deep breath and then guides his friend toward the path leading to the gates of Erebor.

* * *

Silently, he is haunting the battlements above the Gates of his home. And yet, is it? Erebor is thriving. Slowly but surely the mountain is waking up, teaming with new life as more and more of his people filter in. 

And yet, he himself is merely -haunting- the place. Often have Balin and Fili accused him of such. Claimed that he is little more then a wraith failing to truly exist in this world. 

Sadly, -pathetically-, he agrees with them. He struggles to connect with life because he has felt very little reason to do so. Kili is much changed, Dwalin is living in pain and shame and Bilbo ....

He snarls, lips peeling back to reveal his teeth as the familiar ache blossoms deep inside. Once, he would have claimed that ache originated where his heart resides but he can no longer claim to posses such a thing. Any heart he had withered and died the moment he held Bilbo over the battlements and threatened to rob that beautiful, bright spirit of life.

His hands have balled into trembling fists. Far too often as of late, his knuckles throb and hurt from fingers clenching into unrelenting fists. His palms sport the permanent crescent moon scars of nails biting endlessly into his skin. Far less than he deserves. 

The flat of his fists raise and then fall, slamming painfully against the wall before him as he leans heavily against the stone. Every thought is smoke clogging his senses, leaving him breathless and edged in panic. 

(He is no stranger to this feeling. Panic plagued him every step of their journey from the Shire to Erebor. He was stronger then, anchored to a purpose that did not allow him to waver. Now he is untethered, lost and alone.) 

Every breath that proceeds the kind of movement needed to step forward day to day has become jagged shards of glass stuck beneath the surface of his skin. Tearing and fraying, leaving him broken open, raw and exposed. 

(This is an altogether new experience for the dwarf. Every step of life has been necessary because he was a Prince. He had his people. There has never been any way but -forward- until now. He fears he is drowning beneath an abstract concept and that is more terrifying than Smaug, the Gold Sickness, and the fall of Erebor all rolled into one. Because he cannot take a sword or his fists to a concept and hope to triumph.)

He chuffs angrily, his eyes falling to half mast beneath the weight of his melancholy. Honestly, he is far too old to be standing here brooding, trying to rally against his own thoughts like some undisciplined dwarfling but his mind has become his prison and worse than a labyrinth maze.

He tosses his head back, shakes it carefully side to side as if to dislodge his tender, terrible thoughts physically. But then, that's always been one of his problems, hasn't it? His entire life there seemed to be some action he could take to defeat his enemies. 

But how does one defeat death and your own shortcomings?!? Had he never succumbed to the Sickness of Durin's Line, Bilbo would not have returned to the road and perished in any number of terrible ways.

No, his Hobbit would be -here-, where he BELONGS, brightening the corridors of Erebor with his laughter and wit. Mahal, but he is sure his people would have loved the Hobbit. Showered him with fine clothes and trinkets. Even now he can think of at least a dozen Dwarrow that would be tripping over themselves to win the heart of Bilbo Baggins.

They would never have had the chance, of course, but they would've wished to try. He chooses to believe that his Hobbit would've forgiven him for his Sickness. Would have allowed him to lavish the riches of Erebor upon him. 

(Including the most luxurious of chambers with a balcony where he could've grown his pretty plants and flowers.)

He stomps his booted feet, kicks against the wall to dispell these thoughts of what if. They do little more than lodge deep inside, poisoning him from the inside out. He cannot change the past, cannot bring Bilbo back to the family that mourns him so deeply.

His mood fully shattered by lingering thoughts about Bilbo, he decides it's time to return to his duties. After all, there is much to be done before a coronation. He pushes himself away from the wall, allowing his eyes to scan the horizon one last time before falling closer to the Gate.

His breathing stops. His gut clinches and his heart constricts.

Master Beorn is making his way to the Gates in bear form. His fur is softer and cleaner than he ever remembers it being. More shocking than that is the fact that there are passengers riding on his back.

His eyes are first drown to the regal shoulders and the long blond hair of the farthest rider. An elf, of course. He vaguely reminds him of Thranduil. Gone is the instant sense of loathing that name once brought. He is far too tired these days to spare any energy for old feuds 

He does, however, spare a moment to wonder at the fact that the elf is clutching the rider settled in front of him. A young Man. 

Elf and Man riding on Beorn's back. It sounds like the beginnings of a fairytale or fable designed to promote peace between the races. He huffs an exhausted laugh at that thought.

Unlike the people of Dale, he does not mistake the third rider's age or race, despite the Elven clothes and trinkets.

He knows a Hobbit when he sees one. Especially -this- Hobbit.

His cheeks seem pale and luminescent, off set beautifully by the green of his tunic. Never has something of Elven make looked so dashing and beautiful before.

To see his tawny copper curls sporting well worked gold and the pointed curves of his ears encased in silver ... it's everything he had wished to drape his Hobbit in.

It is a breathtaking sight that leaves his heart cracked open and bleeding.

"... I will not be fooled again." He sighs that weary promise aloud as a mantra. He has seen the ghost of his Bilbo far too many times to be fooled. He curses the horizon before he turns and steps back into Erebor.

Some few minutes later, he has taken his place beside the throne. He has no desire to greet the newest batch of well wishers, especially not with the wraith of Bilbo on his mind but even now, he has duties and he will attend them to the best of his abilities.

He squares his shoulders and slides his hands behind his back in a basic parade rest stance as two guards enter the room.

"My King. Prince Legolas of The Greenwood. Also, Masters Strider and Bilbo Baggins of Rivendell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This entire fic was actually inspired by the vision I had of Elven Bilbo, Strider, and Legolas approaching Erebor on Beorn's back. Everything else sorta sprang from that.
> 
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> These are the jewelry pieces Bilbo is wearing:
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> Cuff: https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51P-BJOz4tL.jpg
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> Circlet: http://www.medievalbridalfashions.com/images/circlets/Enchanted%20Ivy/Enchanted-Ivy-circlet-21.JPG


	8. The Reunion

Bilbo can hardly breathe. The gates to Erebor are just as grand and intimidating as he remembers. The fact that he had never thought to enter the mountain again has brought on a rather heavy case of feels that he is struggling to keep under wraps. Mostly because he doesn't want to worry his boys.

Speaking of ... he pushed a little further back against Strider's chest, feeling his arms tighten around him even as Legolas' hands flatten against his stomach.

He truly believes he wouldn't be able to do this without his Boys. Had he heard of the coronation while on his own, he would not have had the heart to come. To confront his past and all that he lost.

His fingers tighten in Beorn's fur, twisting the tufts nervously as they are guided to the throne room.

The first thing to capture Bilbo's attention is not the people, not even the announcement of him and his sons. The first thing to garner his attention is the stone throne. 

Thorin had described it so many times, how glorious the seat of power was in Erebor. The one thing he spent so much time detailing ... the spot of honor where The Arkenstone gleamed above the head of the King .. it lays empty. The intricate golden knotwork had been removed completely, leaving the stone pristine and bare. The sight takes his breath away and leaves him floundering in a sense of awed confusion. After everything Thorin went through to get that blasted thing, and now it's gone??

It is only after this that his attention is drawn to the -occupant- of the throne and he sucks in a surprised breath that causes his entire frame to quake momentarily. His boys tighten their holds on him.

Fili is sitting on the throne decked out in sandy furs, his beard, moustache, and hair elaborately braided. Gone is the twinkle of boyish mischief. His shoulders are slightly slumped and his eyes are narrowed.

Bilbo's heart instantly aches for the beautiful, carefree boy his Prince used to be. 

Why on Earth is Fili settled on the Throne?! Where the Hell is -- Bilbo out and out gasps when he glances to the side of the throne and sees Thorin standing there, hands clasped behind him.

Gone are his expensive furs and his simple Kings crown. Gone also are the matching braids and his beard. Much like Dwalin, the King sports stubble across his cheeks, chin, and neck. His hair hangs shiny and loose and Bilbo feels something painful lurch deep in his stomach.

Why is his King shorn and not seated on the throne they worked so hard to reclaim? What new madness has claimed the line of Durin during his absence??

"Leave us!" Fili barks out the order in a voice roughened by heavy emotions such as fear, pain and heaviest of all .. hope. "And have the Company brought immediately! Kili first!!" All guards and guests pour from the throne room save Thorin, Fili, and Bilbo and his bunch.

"I asked that everyone leave."  When Fili directs those words toward his boys, he stiffens and draws himself up to his full height. Though it does not compare to his sons or Beorn, the action has the desired effect. Beorn moves closer, his sons flank him protectively and Thorin and Fili both straighten as well. Striving to present themselves at their best.

"If they go, so too do I, Fili." He eyes the royal who eyes him back for the longest moment before throwing himself off the throne and into Bilbo's surprised embrace.

"Uncle Bilbo ... I can't believe ... you're really here! I thought... WE thought, all of us, that you were gone. We even had a tomb built for you along side the Durin Line. I can't believe you're alive, Uncle." Fili buries his face in the top of Bilbo's curls and weeps ever so softly. Within the next moment, Bilbo has switched to family mode. He tucks Fili closer, nuzzles against him even as a hand rubs gently up and down his back.

"There now,  Kidhuzurâl (golden one) .. I've missed you, my boy. There has been a grave misunderstanding and I will clear it all up once the others arrive. But here now, let me get a good look at you, jewelheart." Fili actually goes slightly pink at the cheeks and ears at the term of endearment but his teary eyes also shine with fond happiness. "You have grown into such an extraordinary dwarf. So regal and fetching. I am so very -proud- of you." Fili's breath hitches and he very nearly tackles Bilbo in his desire to hug him close once more.

Once Fili has let go, he steps out of the way so that Bilbo and Thorin are face to face. Up close, Thorin looks even more out of place and yet ... just as breathtakingly handsome as ever. 

"Halfling." Thorin's voice is gravel and pitch, the timbre Bilbo remembers though it sounds foreign somehow as well. Before he can respond, he hears a scoff from Legolas and an out right growl from Strider and he immediately lifts his arms out and to the side. In no way surprised when his boys collide with them as they march forward.

"Peace, dearhearts." He murmurs soothingly, feeling them relax minutely.

"But Bilbo, what he called you ..." Legolas' words are tempered by the aggravated grinding of his jaws.

"That isn't right and you know it." Strider snarls and gnashes his teeth, causing the Hobbit to smile in amusement.

"Yes, I heard, and no, you cannot challenge him. He may think me some halfling, but we know the truth. Calm yourselves." They both huff in unison before relaxing further. And yet, not so much that they could not leap into action if they think their Hobbit has need of them.

"Yes, sir." They huff and puff and Bilbo cannot help the warm chuckle their actions cause.

"Have I caused some offense? Halfling is what I usually call you." Thorin looks annoyed and perplexed in equal measure and Bilbo wrinkles his nose in annoyance.

"Yes, Thorin Oakenshield, it is what you called me with no question to my opinion of it."

"Our Hobbit -"

"- is half of nothing!"

"He's brave -"

"- and amazing!" Back and forth his boys go, trying their hardest to glare Thorin into submission. Instead, he seems to grow more rigid where he stands, features twisted in some unreadable way.

Before he can say anything else, someone is spilling in to the room.

"Fili, why has a guard summoned -" Kilis voice, usually brimming with sunshine and happiness is rough as rock, dusty as dirt. It sounds... it sounds as if it has rusted with disuse. As if each word is forced out through a throat permanently constricted in pain. " Irak’Adad .... Irak’Adad ..... Irak’Adad (Uncle)...." Kili has gone white as a sheet, the word repeated over and over in that broken, rusty voice. Within moments, Bilbo has taken the few steps needed to whisk Kili up, into his arms. Together, they sink to the ground. Bilbo is on his knees with Kili's face pressed against his stomach as the dwarf sobs relentlessly. Bilbo carefully, protectively folds himself over the boy.

"Shhh... it's alright, lad. I'm right here. Right here. My Gehyith (Little Dove) .." He presses the words gently into Kili's hair as he rocks the dwarf against him, trying to sooth his poor, battered soul.

"Here now, laddie. What's this about needing the whole company?" Balin 's voice is exactly as Bilbo remembers it. Old, wizened, and a little tired. He goes stock still when he sees Bilbo kneeling, still cradling Kili. "Master Baggins.. is it truly? But ... but we all thought .." Bilbo hushes Kili softly before gently pulling away. In the next moment, Balin has him unsteadily by the shoulders and much as he had done with Dwalin in Bag End, he cracks his forehead against that of the Hobbit. Infinitely more gently, though. "Its good to see you again, brother." 

Before Bilbo can say much else, there is a chorus of his name being said as the rest of the Company appear. He's hugged, headbutted, and his cheeks are even sloppily kissed as each one of the Company greet him.

In the end, he finds himself settled on the ground with Kili buried against one side of him and Ori against the other. He had to give Strider and Legolas reassuring smiles so that they would not fall in to any jealousy over their 'spots' being usurped. 

After all, Bilbo has such a high capacity for love. There will always be enough to go around.

"Master Baggins ... not that we aren't all happy to see you, but a particularly ... colorful relation of yours lead us to believe you were dead. We tried to send word to everywhere we could think, but no one had heard from you." Dori clears his throat once he has spoken, sharing a confused glance with the others even as Bilbo sighs.

"Of course Lobelia lead you to believe I was dead. You and everyone else in the Shire, I'm sure. It was the only way to get her gross, grimy paws on my Home and all of my things. She would much rather believe I am dead than believe there is a chance I would return to reclaim my things. How we can be related is a mystery to me." Ori and Kili both whimper and cling tighter at the anger rolling off Bilbo, though it in no WAY matches the scathing RAGE Thorin seems to be trembling with.

"Do you mean to say that that vile, odious woman stole your home from you, while you were out helpings us reclaim ours and she is kin to you as well?" Thorin's voice is icy, calm ... deadly. It vaguely reminds him of the same voice Thorin used during his Gold Sickness when he was paranoid of his kinsmen and friends. He shudders a little but otherwise manages to keep himself in check.

"That is precisely what I am saying." He squeezes Kili and Ori gently, petting them even though his attention has turned toward Legolas and Strider. "And no, my dears, you cannot ride off to the Shire and reclaim my smial. What's done is done. And the rest of you! While I am sorry that you thought me dead, as that was never my intention, neither did you foolish Dwarrow look everywhere for me. Did none of you think to send word to Rivendell??" 

In no way surprising to the Hobbit, most of the Dwarrow make disgusted sounds at such a thought.Gloin looks two seconda from out and out spitting on the ground as he growls.

"Why in blue blazes would we send word to those tree shaggin' leaf eaters, Master Baggins?!" Bilbo spares a moment to glare at Gloin, especially considering his elf-son is STANDING RIGHT THERE! 

"Because Uncle Bilbo likes the elves!" Kili hisses the words from where he's pressed against the Hobbit.

"We -both- tried to tell you to send word to Rivendell and the Greenwood and you refused. Milk drinkers." Every head turns to Ori in surprise but he doesn't bother looking repentant. They took his older brother from him with their silly Dwarrow pride and there's no way he would let them forget that anytime soon. "I could've been experiencing Rivendell with my brother instead of grieving him. You're all morons for not listening to Kili and me about this." Bilbo gapes for a long moment... before tipping his head back and laughing uproariously. 

"Oh Ori, my lad .. you ... you are my sannadadith (perfect younger brother) ....." Ori's eyes widen in a shocked happiness before he nearly topples the Hobbit in his desire to cuddle him close.

"Thank you, Bilbo. You are as precious a brother to me as Nori and Dori. I missed you so much." They embrace warmly before Bilbo turns to face Thorin and Fili.

"Had you been able to see past your prejudice and contacted the elves you would have known I lived." He huffs softly, shaking his head in disappointment. "But no matter. I am alive and well and there -will- be discussion of treaties. For now though, we three should head back to Dale and find lodging." 

"NO!!" Every member of the Company practically shouts that singular denial.

"Nonsense. You and your ... company ... will lodge in Erebor. You helped us reclaim our Home, Uncle. There will always be a place here for you." Carefully, he pries himself from Ori and Kili, smiling warmly when Fili pulls him into a tight hug. "Nori, please escort them to Uncle's rooms. We had quarters put aside for you before we sent anyone to check the Shire. They ... they have remained unoccupied in reverence to you. Please, settle in and someone will summon you when next we eat." 

Bilbo gives Fili one last hug, then hugs Kili and Ori before being engulfed in hugs by Bofur, Dwalin, Balin, and Dori.

"Thank you, Fili. And thank you, Beorn, for your help. Until we meet again, my friend." Bilbo turns to follow Nori, grinning tiredly when he feels Strider and Legolas each place a hand on his shoulder.

* * *

When Fili spoke of quarters, Bilbo isn't sure what he had expected, but it -definitely- wasn't -THIS-! His quarters are huge! A beautiful antechamber with two couches and a chair, a small fireplace, and a table leads into a large, circular room with many doors. These doors lead to three bedrooms, a kitchen, two washrooms, and a library. Every room is furnished with cherry wood and oak, with warm, earthy tones and splashes of exquisite, bright color. 

It is rich and yet homey. It makes Bilbo ache in so many splendid ways.

"Welcome home, brother." Nori sweeps him into a tight, trembling hug that he returns wholeheartedly before the dwarf parts.

"This place is beautiful." Strider's eyes are large and round, the shape of child-like wonder and Bilbo finds himself happy beyond belief that he can share this moment with his boys.

Legolas appears from one of the bedrooms, hands clasped behind his back.

"I placed our things in the largest room, Adar." Bilbo hums his approval, slightly distracted until he yawns, loud and unexpected.

"Can we nap before they come to get us?" Strider sounds so very shy and Bilbo kind of hurts on his behalf. He wonders how much of Strider's childhood was actually spent getting to be a child and fears the answer is almost none.

"Of course, dearheart." He easily reaches for Legolas' hand and the three of them head into the room.

* * *

Several hours later, Thorin slips quietly into Bilbo's chambers. When knocking at the antechamber had garnered no answer, he made his way in to the main room. From there, he gently opened the door to the largest bedroom.

Thorin's breathing grounds to a stop, his eyes widening to the point they actually hurt. Bilbo is asleep in the middle of the bed. His ear cuffs and circlet are sat on the bedside table. He looks beautiful and serene in sleep ... and why shouldn't he, with his âzyungâl (lover) wrapped so tightly around him?? 

Thorin instantly feels sick for a plethora of reasons. The sinking feeling that comes with the realization that he missed any chance he may have had. The questions that plague him ... had the crimes he committed under The Sickness driven Bilbo away from him? Had there ever been anything but friendship between them or had his own feelings conjured something that had not truly existed?!

He sucks in a silent, pained breath as he studies the two sleeping forms. 

Where Bilbo looks serene and peaceful, the blond headed elf looks happy and content. His arm is slung around Bilbo's middle, the tip of his nose pressed against the shoulder of the Hobbit. They are actually sharing the same pillow! That bit of knowledge is too much. The dwarf quickly backs out of the room and hurries from the area before he does something embarrassing ... like try to choke the Elf with his bare hands ... or break down crying. 

His hasty retreat means that he misses the sight of a sleep rumpled Strider returning from the kitchen. He climbs carefully in to bed, wrapping himself around his Adar and his brother. 

Thorin quietly dissuades anyone from trying to wake their guests for food, bidding them let the three sleep after their long journey. Partially because he wants nothing more than for Bilbo to be happy and if the knife-ear makes him happy, so be it. Partially because he knows several members of the Company would not exhibit the same amount of self control that he had. Any injury to the elf would hurt Bilbo as well, so he cannot allow it.

He is happy for the Hobbit.

.....

.....

.....

If he tells himself that enough, maybe he can believe it.


	9. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here! Have a chapter about the brothers. Dunno, seemed like a good time to have some perspective from Legolas and Strider. The next chapter will be about them and their cousins.
> 
> Then, it should be a few chapters of misunderstandings and the final Thilbo bits.

Legolas is the first to awaken, heavy with warmth and comfort. There are no words for the happiness he has enjoyed since befriending Strider and Bilbo. For the first time in decades he knows friendship and love. He's no longer alone.

He takes this moment to bask in the sense of family he is surrounded by. The shape of Bilbo's hip under his arm, the texture of Strider's tunic where the material is bunched gently in his fingers. The now familiar warmth seeping through him and carrying with it a contentment he has never truly felt before.

He quickly blinks the remainder of sleep from his eyes, wishing to sing or hum but aware of his sleeping family. As carefully as he can, he loosens his grip on Strider, presses a kiss to Bilbo's cheek and climbs carefully from the bed.

From there, it only takes a few minutes to pull himself together. Once he is immaculate, he makes his way to the kitchen and grabs a cup of water, downing it quickly. It tastes different, not as fresh and earthy as he is used to, but refreshing none the less.

He has just made his way to the antechamber with a book when he hears a heavy handed knock at the door. He glances at the door before setting the book on the arm of a chair and crossing to open the antechamber door.

A rather rounded dwarf stands on the other side clutching a large bag close.

"Greetings, Master Dwarf. How may I help you?" It is not thoughts of Thranduil's honor that has him clinging to his manners, but rather the hope of doing his Hobbit Adar proud.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your morning, lad,  but I ... well, I am a bit worried, is all. Bilbo has missed two meals and I know how much a Hobbit is used to eating. I brought him a few portions to tide him over. May I see him?" Legolas swallows back a tide of amusement and the barest hint of insult. As if himself and Strider are incapable of taking care of their Father.

However, he has seen many like this dwarf before. Bilbo is his kin and this is the only way he knows how to worry. The Elven Prince cannot begrudge him this. 

"He is in the largest bedroom, Master Dwarf. Please, I am sure he would gladly welcome any gift you bring him." With one last polite, mostly friendly smile, he turns and settles with his book. 

Vaguely, he wonders what goodies a dwarf might think suitable for his Adar and cannot help the gentle flush of amusement at the large bag being the equivalent of a snack, apparently.

(The only possible reservation he has at the thought of visiting the Shire with Bilbo is the thought of the Hobbits trying to feed him up. And yet, he will gladly indulge such if it means seeing where their Hobbit grew up.)

He has managed to finish several pages of his book between moments of reflection when the door to the main chamber opens and the rotund dwarf steps through. The creature looks both pale and red faced.

"Oh dear. Poor Bilbo ... hope he understands ... getting himself into ... poor Thorin's heart ..." Legolas cants his head to the side, silently wondering what all of the muttering is about but he isn't given a chance to ask as their guest walks right on through and out. Huh. With a shake of his head, he returns to reading.

* * *

Stifling a yawn behind his hand, Strider carefully cants his head to the side. Gauges that he is in bed curled up against Bilbo but Legolas is absent. 

It seems strange, the kinship that has sprung up between him and the elf given the jealous competition they had once engaged in over Bilbo's attentions. Now, he thinks himself very lucky to count Legolas a brother.

It takes him almost a full minute to understand what woke him. There is light pouring in from the bedroom door and a large, ginger dwarf is standing there. Upon squinting, Strider is able to see that the dwarf is clutching a bag like a shield, eyes wide and cheeks blanched beneath his whiskers. 

"Greetings, Master Dwarf." He pitches his voice to an audible whisper, casting an apologetic glance in Bilbo's direction as explanation for the low voice. "I'm afraid Bilbo is still asleep. Is there something I can help you with?" 

For a long, awkward moment, silence reigns before the dwarf manages to shake himself out of his stupor.

"Forgive me, I thought to find Bilbo sleeping alone."

"Bilbo never sleeps alone, not if I can help it." No, their Adar is prone to nightmares, so one of them is almost always present to help keep them at bay.

"O-oh. Of course. I, uhm ... I brought some food for Master Bilbo, seeing as he has missed a few meals. I'm sure you will make sure your .... âzyungâl (lover) ... receives it. My apologies for interrupting." With shaking hands, the dwarf drops the bag by the door and turns to leave. "It's just... we all thought our dear Burglar dead, young man. We are all very pleased and blessed to have him back ..... even if it's not in the capacity we might have wished. But we fear he will leave him again." With that, the ginger dwarf practically runs from the room, mumbling to himself.

Him? The dwarf said -HIM-. A very odd declaration in the midst of all this 'we' speech.

He glances at Bilbo's sleeping form, biting the inside of his cheek before making up his mind. He carefully extracts himself from the Hobbit and pads off to get dressed.

* * *

Legolas sighs ever so softly, closing his book and leaning back in his chair. Much as he had in the Greenwood, he finds himself feeling a bit closed in. There is a certain beauty to the mountain, to be sure, but there is also something in the knowledge that he is not truly free to go that causes him to ache for his freedom. 

Despite that ache, however, he intends to remain as long as Bilbo and Strider have need of him. He has no desire to leave his family if he doesn't have to.

(He is not so foolish as to try and pretend that Thranduil will not call him back. For the first time that he can recall, the Greenwood no longer feels like home. For home is where his Brother and Father are.)

He tilts his head back, sighing softly. 

"What weighs on your mind, toron (brother)?" He does not jump at the unexpected voice, but he does tense in surprise. Yes, he had just labeled Strider brother in his thoughts, but to hear the Man speak it aloud... he swallows down a sudden swell of emotion and levels his gaze at him.

"The realization that the Greenwood is no longer home, toron. But instead, where you and Adar go, so shall my home be." He can feel the vague kiss of heat in his cheeks at admitting such a thing, but he doesn't backpedal. Strider has a right to know the truth.

"Legolas.. I feel the same. You and Bilbo.. you're family, and you always will be." After a moment of hesitation, the Man walks over and hugs him tightly, if briefly.

"Thank you, Strider." They part awkwardly but in a comfortable sense of kinship, Strider balancing easily on the arm of the chair.

"So ... tell me, toron ... how would you feel about a spot of mischief?" Strider speaks the words so sweet and innocent and Legolas answers with a wide, kind smile.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Sharing whimsical, playful smirks they jump up and head in to the main rooms to get ready before they head out, into Erebor together.

Destination? Trouble. Preferably with their new cousins in tow, once they find them.


	10. The Cousins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, but due to the holidays, I am going to be slow updating, but I am still writing!

So, it turns out that trying to hunt down their cousins was easier thought than achieved. 

Apparently, stalking royalty is a no-no. Who'd have thought? 

(Honestly, it should have occurred to -both- of them that trying to stealth through the halls of a Dwarrow mountain city would be nigh impossible when you're taller than -everyone else by several feet-. Unfortunately, neither of them had considered that truth when they began trying to sneak around and follow after their cousins.)

After having seven different Royal Guards stop them to demand answers as to what they were doing, where they were going, they realized the error of their ways, so to speak. When the nineth guard began to approach as they were trying to round the corner that Fili and Kili had just disappeared around, Strider outright growls in frustration. 

"FILI! Kili!" Strider doesn't bother trying to modulate the volume of his voice as he hollers after his cousins. Legolas casts a disapproving grimace in the direction of his brother, but doesn't reprimand him. Especially not when their cousins come running around the corner, eyes wide in concern given that two guests are calling out for them.

"Mahal's Beard!! What is all of this shouting about?!" Kili huffs in agitation, tired, bruised eyes narrowed at the larger males. He's two seconds from outright stomping his foot at the two.

The brothers exchange softly sheepish smiles before turning to the Dwarrow and executing perfect Dwarrow bows.

"Strider ...

".. and Legolas...

"... at your service!" The two beam happily at the look of surprise on the face of the two Princes.

"Fili ..."

.. and Kili .."

" .. at your service." The Dwarrow brothers bow before they can really think about the action, as it is so ingrained in them.

"You still didn't answer my question, Master Elf." This time, Kili does actually stomp his booted foot, glaring at the two.

"Forgive us our rudeness, Prince Kili. Our Adar would be most upset at our manners, but it seemed the only way to get your attention. Your guards would not allow us close enough to introduce ourselves."

"Adar? What is an adar, Prince Legolas?" Fili slips easily into the conversation, trying to keep his younger brother from acting out too much. He most definitely does -not- like having to be so diplomatic these days. He assumed he had so much longer before he would have to do any of this official stuff.

"He means our ... adad (Father)." Strider struggles with the Dwarrow word and watches as the two brothers exchange confused looks

"You and Master Strider .. share a Father?" Kili chuffs softly, shaking his head in confusion. Legolas and Strider exchange shy smiles before facing their cousins again.

"Yes, we do. Our Adar ... he chose us, just as we chose him. We are not blood .. but we -are- family." Legolas reaches out to squeeze Strider's shoulder as he speaks, the Man angled toward him in support.

"Master Dwalin is the reason we are here." Strider actually squeaks a little as he speaks. He'd not admit it out loud, but he's smart enough to be intimidated by the dwarf warrior. "That is to say ... he spoke of you when we arrived in Dale. Said that you were our cousins, so we thought we should introduce ourselves." 

The Ranger knows that he's rambling and he cannot seem to get himself under control because he's just so -nervous- to be meeting their kin.

"Uhm.. what?" Both Dwarrow question as one. Strider shifts uncomfortably where he stands, glancing at his brother who is wearing his diplomatic smile.

"You call our Adar Uncle .. that would make you our cousins." 

Legolas smirks in amusement as he watches the Dwarrow go from confused to beaming with happiness.

"By Mahal!! You're Uncle BILBO'S sons!?!" Kili shrieks the words about five seconds before he literally throws himself at Strider. The Man barely manages to catch his cousin without falling flat on his backside.

Fili groans and glares at his brother, but there is little heat behind it. Kili had been such a shadow of himself, that he's overjoyed to see him acting like this. And yet, he also knows his duty.

"Forgive my brother his ... exuberance. It is a blessing to find that our beloved Uncle is alive. To find that we have Cousins as well, it is a twice blessed event. His excitement is understandable, though he also knows better .. ugh. Mahal forgive me." Fili's diplomacy has officially run out. He launches himself at his Elf cousin, latching onto the larger male in his own fit of happiness. He is even willing to ignore the fact that he is not only an elf, but the offspring of that bastard Thranduil. 

(Of course, the fact that Legolas is smart enough to claim Bilbo as his Father helps. As does the fact that Bilbo sees something in the Elf that allowed him to claim him as his son. If Bilbo likes him, Fili and Kili will, too. They love/trust their Uncle that much.)

"We have never really had cousins or anything before. It feels as if it's been us, Mum and Uncle Thorin forever." Fili manages to regain some shred of his dignity as he pries himself off Legolas and brushes some imagined piece of debris off his shoulder.

"We are so very happy to welcome you, Cousins." Kili lets Strider go and throws himself into an enthusiastic embrace with Legolas before moving to stand with his brother.

"We are happy to call you our Cousins." Strider replies kindly before he glances at his Brother and remembers why they were looking for the Dwarrow in the first place.

"Now that we have all thoroughly introduced ourselves .... would you be ever so kind as to help Strider and myself?"

"What can we do for you, Legolas?' Kili cants his had to the side, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes.

"... we aim to misbehave." Strider's sweet, calm features twist into a look of playful mischief and the Dwarrow smirk at each other for a moment.

"Oh dear cousins, you have come to the right place!" Kili hooks his arm through Legolas' even as Fili hooks his through Strider's.

* * *

Kili is leaning lazily against a wall, arms crossed casually in front of him. Honestly, why his kin thought -HE- would make the best lookout is beyond him. He is pretty much synonymous with -trouble- so of course everyone would assume he's up to something as he leans here.

But that is -not- why he's feeling irked at the moment.

.....

.....

HE should be in on this, damn it! He has been playing pranks and causing mischief with his brother since shortly after he took his first steps. And now he's been relegated to -lookout- while Fili gets to -bond- with their awesome new cousins. This is wrong on so many levels!!

"By Mahal, this is going to be -brilliant-!" Kili scowls at the sound of excitement in his Brother's voice. Jealousy is raging like a violent storm through him but there's nothing he can really do about it, especially with Fili's position. 

"Okay. The color has been crushed and added. You and Legolas need to head out." Strider's voice is both authoritative and playful and Kili cannot help but admire his cousin. He hopes that one day, he will be as calm and collected as the Man.

Legolas and Fili spill out into the hall, grinning as they wait for the Man. Sounds of scratching, rustling, and soft cursing precede Strider slipping out of the room.

"Come on! Dwalin will be here soon." Kili hisses, yelping when Legolas grabs him by the arm as they stumble toward the end of the hallway to hide in a shadowed alcove. Five minutes later, Dwalin is scowling as he stomps down the hall toward his personal quarters. 

Kili finds himself seized by a fit of giggles. Thankfully, only a few escape before Strider's hand slaps across his mouth to muffle the sound.

Dwalin slams his door open with his shoulder, the sound of something wet splatting followed by a loud snarl.

" Amrad ‘Azug!" (Death Drake, used as a curse here.) Dwalin howls the word before turning around. His bare head, face, and the shoulders of his jerken are glistening a shiny pink. He storms down the hall, screaming FILI and KILI at the top of his lungs. The four cousins collapse against each other in raucous laughter.

"You've done it now, lads!" As Dwalin's wrathful voice draws nearer, Fili finds himself lifted into Strider's arms at the same time Legolas hefts Kili into his.

"RUN!" Strider hisses to his brother before they stumble from their hiding spot and take off in the opposite direction as the angry Dwarf.

Fili is surprised to note that Strider actually looks worried, though he's kind enough not to mention it.

* * *

This time, Strider is on lookout, given the fact that they have infiltrated the guest chamber of a Man that had been particularly rude to Kili. Upon hearing that, Legolas had grown livid and had dragged his family to the kitchens, somehow managing to -politely- mutter curses and besmirch the Man's lineage. Even Fili found himself rather impressed with Legolas' ability to remain so sweet faced and innocent while cursing in three different languages.

The basic gist being ... how dare someone insult his cousin and think to get away with it!!

Legolas is standing at his full height, towering over his cousins with a look better suited to Gollum or some other devious, dark creature. Fili is practically ready to get his cousin's name tattooed on him in familial -pride-! Hell, he might even get it in Elven script! 

(You know, as long as there's no way at -ALL- that Uncle Thorin would ever find out. Fili enjoys all the fine things life has to offer.)

"Kili, start the fire. Fili, grab his clothes and spread them on the bed." When the brothers exchange confused glances, Legolas smoothes the edge of his tunic and clears his throat.

"Trust me, cousins. This will get him. I... may have pulled this on Lady Arwen a few years back ... and allowed her twin brothers to take the fall for it." On instinct, he looks to the door to make sure Strider hasn't waltzed in. " Do -not- tell Strider. If I have to hear how perfect and beautiful and magical the Evenstar is one more time I may fall upon my own arrows." The elf Prince wrinkles his nose in distaste before he returns to the task at hand.

He misses Kili's wide-eyed gaping stare at the mention of arrows.

"Now, then." Legolas slips into the corner and grabs the heavy, double burlap bag he had stuffed full of everything he needed. He waltzes to the fireplace and kneels in front of it. Despite how disgusting it is, he reaches his bare hand into the bag. He is, after all, doing this for family. He can stand the gross discomfort for that reason alone.

Carefully, so as not to get any of it on himself, he scoops out the fish heads and innards and tosses them onto the flame licked logs. Immediately, the stench is almost overwhelming. He quickly tosses the left over raw cabbage and turnip bits in as well. As they mix with the fish offal and stir up a gag worthy stench, he shudders and steps away from the fire.

"There. In a few minutes, everything he owns will smell like this and it is impossible to get out. Poor Arwen just threw everything away and started over." He shuffles uncomfortably at the awe-struck looks they are giving him, but there isn't time to celebrate. If they stay too long, they will be branded with the stink also.

* * *

"What in Mahal's name is that stench!?"

"Did something -die- in here??"

"Dundher! Is that -you-??!" 

Every time the cousins hear someone sassing the Man that insulted Kili, they struggle not to break out in to laughter.

* * *

Kili is standing outside of Erebor. He hasn't been outside of the mountain in several months. The thought of watching life return to the area when Bilbo would never have the chance to enjoy it had been too hard a truth for him to face. After all, every spot outside of the mountain carried or triggered some memory about his Hobbit Uncle. 

He is holding his bow in trembling hands. This particular one is of great sentimental value to the dwarf because Uncle Thorin made it for him. When Kili chose a weapon most Dwarrow viewed as -Elven-, Uncle Thorin went right out and made him the best bow possible to show their people that there was nothing wrong with Kili's choice.

He hasn't been able to use the weapon since Bilbo was announced as dead. The very thought of wielding it when it could not save someone he loved so much had been too overwhelming.

He glances between the weapon in his hands and the small archery range Uncle Thorin constructed in hopes of waking the passion within him once more. He physically aches to be this close to something constructed with such love and not be able to fathom using it.

"That is a beautiful bow, cousin." Legolas is soft and kind spoken as always. Kili wonders if his cousin is this way on purpose. If he tries to put others at ease because of his station and natural bearing. Much like his brother, he is in awe of the elf. 

"Yes. Uncle Thorin made it for me when I chose my weapon ... despite the anger of many. The bow is not really a Dwarrow weapon after all." Legolas quirks a single brow at the statement, but doesn't really comment because he can understand the sentiment. 

After all, if he had chosen a Dwarrow maul or a Man's greatsword, Thranduil would have been livid. The guards he spent so much time leading would have thought much differently of him.

"Would you mind if I observe you practicing, Kili?" The poor dwarf Prince nearly panics at the thought. He feels as rusty as a dull knife and cannot fathom embarrassing himself in front of Legolas! 

"I... I am sorry, cousin, but I had no intention of practicing. I.. it has been a while since I have even picked a bow up, let alone actually -used- it." He can feel heat pooling in his cheeks and he quickly looks away from the elf.

"Hmm. I see." When he realizes that he can hear Legolas turning away, he wants to panic for a different reason. The thought of his cousin walking away right now fills him with shame. "Such a pity, Kili. I was looking forward to seeing how well you have mastered our shared weapon. Forgive me for intruding on you, cousin. I will seek out Fili instead."

With Legolas' back turned to him, Kili cannot see the smirk the elf is wearing. He is confident that challenging Kili in such a way, while also invoking feelings of sibling rivalry, will drive his cousin to embrace his bow again.

And of course he's right.

"Stop." Kili demands even as he turns and quickly fits an arrow. Flawlessly, he draws and releases, causing Legolas to grin wickedly as he hits the farthest target head on.

"Beautifully done, cousin. In fact, better than some I've known who have been practicing for centuries." Kili can feel himself blushing and preening at the praise.

"Thank you, Legolas." The dwarf grins before looking the range over. "Shall we have a little contest?" 

"Oh .. we shall dear cousin, we shall."

* * *

Two hours later, and Legolas and Kili both look rumpled, disheveled, and half crazed. So far, they have managed to try and out shoot each other on almost every kind of target, save one ... a person.

Which is why they are both trembling and vibrating with maniacal energy as they hide behind a hunk of rock in Erebor.

"This going to be so -good-!" Kili hums happily as he carefully sticks the end of his arrow through a half rotten apple. Legolas wrinkles his nose but doesn't stop smirking as he grabs up the pail of forest green paint. They carefully dunk the apple in the paint, snickering gleefully as Kili turns and takes aim.

"This is for refusing to help until after Uncle Bilbo went face to face with Smaug." Kili snarls the words before letting the arrow fly. 

The two watch with bated breath as the dripping Apple connects with Dain's chest and explodes, sending green paint and rotten apple bits all over his beard.

Squeaking with laughter, the two turn tail and run, Dain's screams of outrage following behind them.

* * *

Legolas and Kili are in search of their next target when they both draw up short. 

A Man is standing in a small gathering of two Men, one female dwarf, and three female elves. The Man is talking loudly, voice full of snide as he sneers.

"I do not understand the significance of a single halfling! Even if the creature is a friend of the soon to be crowned king. It is rude and disrespectful to all of us important enough to hold positions that everything has ground to a halt over this creature. What does a halfling Hobbit amount to in the midst of treaties and trade agreements? To hell with Bilbo." The self-important ass is ignorant if the passing eavesdroppers and therefore, ignorant of his coming fate. 

Because -no one- talks ill of Bilbo Baggins without consequence, even if they are a representative of Bard the Bowman. 

Legolas snatches up the mushiest, grossest of the apples, his teeth bared in an angry sneer as he smears the piece of fruit with dark, murky brown paint and lines up his shot.

"What in the name of Erebor are you two doing?!" Thorin's deep, annoyed tone causes Kili to jerk in surprise and turn to face his Uncle. Legolas, however, remains poised to shoot. 

"Uncle! This is not what it seems, I assure you. I solemnly swear we are up to no good!" At these words, Legolas sighs deeply and hangs his head.

"Kili!" He hisses softly, causing the dwarf to review his words. Ki immediately shakes his hands in a 'wait, wait' gesture, going crimson in the cheeks.

"No! Wait! Strike that and reverse it, Uncle. I mean we aren't not up to good ... I mean .. we are very much -behaving-!" Legolas comes very close to rolling his eyes in a most un-Princely fashion before he growls and looks back toward the Man.

"What Kili is -trying- to say ... is that the Man has it coming, Master Thorin." Legolas doesn't bother to look at the dwarf, keeping his vengeful gaze on the Man. "... he said to hell with Bilbo .. that a halfling Hobbit doesn't matter." His voice is deceptively calm and soft considering the storm of emotion raging inside of him.

Thorin stiffness, flat gaze flaring to life with anger. He shakes his head a single time before turning away.

"Right then ... just wait until I'm out of range." And that is all Thorin Oakenshield will say on the matter. Whatever they do to the Man, he has coming for insulting Bilbo. Thorin cannot deny the elf the right to defend the honor of his âzyungâl (lover). Were Bilbo his, he would have saught retribution in his own way as well. Thorin winces deeply at his own wistful thoughts before slipping out of the area.

"No one insults my Adar." Legolas growls the words before letting his arrow fly. He smirks with devilish happiness as the brown painted apple explodes across the Man's bum, painting it muddy browns.

Kili punches Legolas proudly on the arm before they turn and scurry from the area.

-

* * *

In the end, Elf and Dwarf forgot their scores, happy to call the contest a tie.


	11. The Love of a Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays! Here's a small, sweet chapter of Father/Son bonding!

Erebor is and is not as Bilbo expected it to be. It is a bustling kingdom of dwarrow rushing about here and there as he expected. However, it is far more ... somber than he expected it to be. For a people that he knows to be capable of feasting, singing, and merry-making, all that he has encountered have been grim faced and subdued in a way he had not thought to associate with dwarrow.

It begs the question ... had the Company been some odd little exception to dwarrow life, or have the people of Erabor had some reason to become so solemn?

(It doesn't occur to the wee Hobbit that the dwarrow are in mourning. That they are somber and grim faced because they are lamenting the death of a great Hobbit hero that helped reclaim their Homeland but that they had never had the pleasure of knowing. Of course, even if they didn't honor Bilbo for all that he did in the name of Erebor, they would still be reacting this way due to the melancholia that has swept through the Royal line of Duran. Their Princes and King hurt, so too do they.)

It is while he is observing an older male and female interact in tired, but amicable tones, that he stumbles upon it. 

He has come to an entrance to one of the most active mines and to say he is surprised would be a vast understatement. The mine bares a large, gold plaque etched with the words The Shire Shaft. Seeing the Shire named in a dwarrow Kingdom is odd enough ... but the fact that Grasper and Keeper have been broken in half and mounted on either side of the plaque is a shock he was not prepared for.

Bilbo quickly blinks back tears and gives himself a subtle shake. He suddenly finds that he is in dire need of a drink. Or twelve. 

He carefully retraces his steps to a tavern he remembers passing.

The moment he enters, the feeling of surrealness amps up 100 fold. Because the moment he opens the door he comes face to face with a gold statue in the centre of the room.

A gold statue. Of him.

A beautiful, solemn sculpture of him with a shy smile. At his feet, another plaque. Chiseled upon it ... in memory of the fiercest creature ever known. Mahal bless Bilbo Baggins, our Hobbit Burglar.

He chokes on an obstruction of sobs and manages to swallow them down before they can be heard. On wobbly, unsteady legs, he makes it to the bar and climbs up, onto a stool.

"By Mahal! You're Bilbo Baggins, you are! You faced Smaug!! But you're alive! We were told you died, Master Baggins. All of Erebor has mourned the lost opportunity to know one of our saviors!" A surprisingly lithe dwarf with shoulder length tawny hair and matching square beard is standing to the left, actually -beaming- at him. In fact, it's the kind of awed look he would expect from his sons or nephews. 

"I am sorry, Master Dwarf, but yes, I  
I am very much alive. I was wounded when I left Erebor and further so when I rescued a friend from some orcs. I spent time recuperating in Rivendell and did not realize that I was reported as dead until I returned. Erebor is just as beautiful as I envisioned it to be, and I am happy to be back to visit." He is not going to assume that he may be allowed to stay beyond the coronation. 

"Visit?? Surely one of our Champions has returned home?" Bilbo looks away quickly, his heart thumping painfully at the word HOME. He had felt like a ghost .. like some wraith haunting the Shire for the past few years before Gandalf showed up. The thought of Erebor as Home is so very tempting! He truly believes he could be happy here with his sons, nephews, and friends. 

(Though a part of him is still wary of calling the Company friends just yet.)

"Would you do me the honor of sharing a drink, Master Baggins?" Bilbo shakes himself minutely to get his mind back on the moment and flashes a bit of a shy smile.

"I would be honored to share a drink, Master Dwarf. But please, call me Bilbo." They exchange pleasant smiles as the dwarf settles next to him.

"On the 'ouse, Master Baggins. Our Champion hasn't need of coin here." Bilbo can feel himself blushing as he takes the pint of dwarven ale from the barkeep and takes a hearty drink.

"Some of the best brew I've had, sir." He toasts the bartender and the dwarf beside him before taking another deep drink. 

"You bless me with your compliment, Master Baggins. Enjoy." Bilbo hunches over and continues to sip at his drink, still wondering at the fact that he's viewed as some kind of hero or Champion. Him! A gentlehobbit of the Shire.

This will take some getting used to.

* * *

Strider's mouth is hanging wide open in awe. Legolas looks stuck somewhere between awe and dismay. 

"I did not think to ever hear myself say this ... but whoever designed this surpasses even the ability of the elves. Ada looks beautiful." Legolas is actually whispering, some part of him afraid of breaking the moment if he were to speak too loud.

Fill and Kill had brought the two to the Hall of Heroes, where a statue if Bilbo had been added to the Duran Line. It depicts him holding Sting, several orc corpses strewn about him.

"It took several months to complete. Uncle Thorin had our best Masters from all over working on it. We all gave up a part of our share of the treasure to commission it. Uncle Bilbo is a Champion of Erebor, he deserved no less than the best." Fill is smiling in fond wonderment as he stares at the statue, while Kill is leaned easily against Strider, grinning from ear to ear.

"There are a few smaller ones, just as well constructed, through out Erebor. Our people requested one in the tavern, the marketplace, and the guild district. Bard's kids even requested one in Dale. The town is slowly being built around it." Strider hums softly, impressed that everyone seems to understand how special their Ada is. It makes him feel warm and happy all over.

And yet.

And yet, it also causes a leaden weight to fall heavy in his stomach. Bilbo has never been anything but honest and open with him and he suddenly feels a little sick. 

"Cousin? Are you alright? You look as if the Nazgûl themselves were chasing you." Kili squeezes his cousin gently and Strider feels his unease grow. 

"I am well enough, Kili. Do not concern yourself with me." Reluctantly, the Man pulls away from the dwarf, absently pushing a few strands of hair from his eyes. "Forgive me, but I must retire. I have need to speak with Ada." He half bows to them all before rushing off, leaving his family frowning after him.

"That wasn't okay behavior." Fill points out a little pointlessly, and Legolas sighs. No, that was not the behavior of someone that is doing okay, but he knows better than to pry just yet. His brother is just as stubborn as he himself.

"Peace, cousins. Strider will be alright, he just needs time. Ada will be able to calm him and draw him from whatever wounds his heart and soul."

"Yeah. Uncle Bilbo was always good at helping like that." Fill and Kill exchange fond smiles as they think on their beloved Uncle.

* * *

Bilbo is warmed by the ale in his system but he is not drunk. Not even tipsy. Despite the abundance of dwarrow wanting to share drink and stories with him, he had been sure to embrace a sense of moderation to keep from going overboard. 

He slips into the suit of rooms and heads for the bedroom he's been sharing with his boys. He stumbles in surprise, nearly tripping over his own feet when he realizes that he can hear gentle sobs.

"Strider? What's wrong, son?" There's a soft note of worry in his words, scared that something had happened to the Man while they were separated. The thought of anyone saying or doing something to his son fills him with a low simmering rage as he climbs up on the bed and wraps himself around his boy.

"I .. I'm so sorry, Ada. I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Strider is whispering the words so soft and desperate and it reminds Bilbo that the poor Man is so very young still. That for all his strength and pride, he is still fragile in so many ways. He gently rocks his son, nuzzling the top of his head as Strider clings to him.

"Shhh. Now calm yourself, my dear. There is nothing you can do that would call for such begging of forgiveness, my boy. There is nothing you could do that would diminish my love for you, Strider." 

For reasons Bilbo cannot understand his words wrench a pained, heart staining sob from the Man in his arms and he is struggling not to freak out over his inability to understand or comfort his son. 

"I .. I haven't .. been truthful with you, Father." That one word, spoken in the commin tongue .. the actual label of FATHER, it brings tears to his eyes. He doesn't bother blinking them back this time, letting them fall. 

"It's alright, son. Whatever you need to say, I'm here for you, dearheart." He tries to be as earnest and understanding as he can. He continues to hold his boy until the Man has quietly cried himself out.

"Thank you, Father. I guess ... I guess I should start by saying that I didn't lie to you. I have many names. Some call me Strider because of my Ranger training and among the elves, I am known as Estel. However, I was born Aragorn, son of Arathorn II and Gilraen ... of the Dúnedain." It takes several minutes for Bilbo to process what this means.

His son is the descendent of Kings. Huh.

Bilbo leans forward and carefully wipes the remnants of tears from the cheeks of his boy,  smiling warmly.

"My boy ... I will call you anything you wish .. Estel .. Strider ... Aragorn .. but  mostly, I shall call you Son. If it please you." The words have scarcely left his mouth before the Man nearly bowls him off the bed in his desperate bid to hug him close.

"I love you, Father. I am proud to be your son." 

".. I hope that such an honor extends to me as well, Bilbo." They both jump in surprise, clinging protectively to each other until they realize the words have come from Legolas.

Bilbo works an arm free of Strider and holds it imploringly out to the elf. Legolas quickly scrabble up, onto the bed, wrapping his family in shaking arms.

"Of course it does, my boy. You are as much my son as Strider, if you so wish."

"I wish it with all that I am, Ada."  Bilbo whimpers, emotion clawing at the back of his throat as he holds his boys.

His boys. 

He shivers and presses trembled kisses to the tops of their heads.

"I love you both."


	12. So Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! We have one more chapter after this one and then Cuddles is done!
> 
> Also, there will be a shout out to whoever spots the Dragon Age reference. ;)

Bilbo is not used to being so flustered! Yes, he had experienced that sensation many times during the road to reclaiming Erebor and in different situations through out his life. 

But -nothing- compares to how he is feeling at the moment! He is blushing to the tops of his pointed ears! In fact, were he actually in a position to see his toes, he's half convinced they'd be dusky pink or scarlet red! 

You see, he finds himself slightly ... cornered. Okay, well, someone cannot be -slightly- cornered, but he is trying to give the dwarf woman the benefit of the doubt. Which is a little hard to do when she's standing so close and being so damn .. imposing. She is practically -looming- and he really doesn't have the first clue how to tell her to back off without offending her. He knows enough about Dwarrow to know that females are rare treasures and the last thing he needs to do is offend someone and bring trouble to the Company. 

Or worse, his sons. 

So, when the beautiful dwarf female in her pretty purple dress had cornered him, he had simply humored her. 

But humoring started half an hour ago and has involved the woman touching him no less than seven times. He's ready to bite her head off, but a gentlehobbit would never do such a thing.

He currently finds himself wondering if a Champion might be able to get away with such, though.

"Once my Father created the water-clock, of course, our family easily rose in the ranks. You see, I am ... in demand, you might say. I have yet to meet one of my people that catches my attention, however. Well, excluding Thorin, of course. He is the very picture of the perfect dwarf, but he is far too stuck up to be dealing with. You, though. You will  certainly do." 

Seriously? That is her best courting line? That he will -do-?!? Already he can envision his sons tearing into her for insulting him in such a fashion.

Or Mahal forbid, if his precious Nephews had heard such! He's almost certain that Fili would have the female banished, rarity or not. So, he's trying to be kind and respectful when all he wants to do is shin the woman! 

"With my connections and bloodline and your title as Champion, we would surely become part of the inner circle!" She reaches up to run her fingertips through her perfectly manicured beard and he has to bite his tongue not to spit vitriol at her. Instead, he clears his throat and offers her his best fake smile. The kind he usually reserves for Lobelia.

"As, uhm, kind as your offer sounds, Lady Nim, I am afraid I cannot accept. You see, my heart already belongs to another. And even if it didn't, my Sons must approve of any possible match and the one I choose must be willing to accept the possibility of leaving Erebor. You see, my home is in the Shire and I wish to return there. Of course, there is family I will visit in Rivendell from time to time as well." Though he is not surprised at the sound of disgust she makes at the mention of elves, it hurts to hear all the same. 

"Surely you are not serious! How could some dirty little hobbithole compare to the artistic splendor of Erebor? And -elves-?? What sort of dwarrow Champion would allow himself to befriend -elves-??" Her derision really is the last straw. The elves are his friends and family, damn it!

"Now see here, you giant, purple --!" The poor Hobbit is vibrating with anger and isn't sure how he would've finished that sentence had he not heard a very familiar clearing of a throat.

"Lady Nim. I think it wise that you walk away before you further insult not only one of our beloved Champions, but one your future King loves as his own Uncle. Bilbo is an elf-friend and always has been. Even his âzyungâl (lover) is an elf. To continue speaking as you are is beyond rude and will not be tolerated. Off with you." The female gapes for a moment before scoffing vehemently in Bilbo's direction, hefting her skirts, and hurrying away.

"Thank you, Thorin. I do not know if I could have endured her stupidity much longer." Thorin smiles, though it is frayed and tainted about the edges.

"She had no right to insult you so. And there is never a right to insult a persons One, no matter who or what they are. She was at fault. Besides, it's obvious that you were uncomfortable. Female or not, she should have better manners than that." Bilbo nods in agreement. He cannot picture even a -fauntling- being that ill mannered. "The moment you said that you were enamored of another, she should have backed off. Such things are deeply honored among us. Her parents have allowed her to become a brat. Her behavior spoils the beauty of all of Erebor." Thorin turns and half bows, a sweep of his arm to indicate that Bilbo should follow. Of course, the Hobbit is all too eager to follow his King.

* * *

Dwarf and Hobbit find themselves in the most unlikely of places. One which neither is too eager to revisit. And yet, which both know must eventually be faced. The sooner, the better, else the wound that remains between them shall truly begin to fester.

The battlements. 

The very sight of this place still stirs a wretched, overly real recollection for Bilbo. He remembers the feeling of his hands scrabbling against Thorin's. At first, desperate to be let go and then more desperate to cling to when he was faced with the terrible feeling of-dangling-, nothing but Thorin's strength and whim between him and an agonizing, plunging death. He sometimes still wakes up with a phantom ache in his feet, the memory of twisting and kicking over open air plaguing him.

It is the one place in all of the mountain he could do with never seeing again.

Where Bilbo wishes never to see this area again, Thorin has tortured himself with this place. Established it as a punishing spot of self-flagellation. Any time he found himself moody, angry, depressed, or Mahal forgive him, somehow forgetting some detail of Bilbo, he came within sight of the battlements to relive the day he lost the love of his One. 

Once Bilbo was reported dead, Thorin came here at -least- once a day. He could not cry for his beautiful Hobbit, he lost that right with his betrayal, but he could gorge himself on every memory, no matter how minute or painful, and pray to Mahal, Eru Ilúvatar, or any that might listen, that Bilbo was happy in whatever afterlife Hobbits went to. Of course, he often found himself heaping loads of fresh guilt atop the old every time he realized there was yet something else he had never taken the time to learn about his One.

Bilbo shifts uncomfortably, doing everything in his power not to dwell on the past hell that happened here ... but it is so very hard not to. The Hobbit has had no closure for what transpired between them, not really. And until he does, he will continue in this odd little limbo of confused emotions and broken heart. He will never fully be able to move on.

(Not that he wants to. He really, -really- doesn't want to.)

"I must confess .. I am not altogether comfortable coming here, Thorin." He had not intended to let that truth be known, but the silence that has remained between them since Lady Nim rushed off is eating at Bilbo's sanity and the sooner they are free of this thing tangled up between them, the sooner Bilbo believes he can find true peace and happiness again.

"Hmm. I imagine it is one of the last places you wish to see again, but the only way forward is to face that which we would rather cast off. We ... are both broken, halfling. The only way to finally .. heal ... is to own the mistakes we made here."

Oh Thorin ... and you were so close, too! 

Maybe it's the use of halfling after his dislike of it was pointed out ... maybe it's that Thorin believes Bilbo has some blame in all of this .... mostly likely it's the pain of all that happened here finally catching up to the Hobbit ... either way, he is in no fit emotional state to handle another of Thorin's screw ups.

"Seriously? Are you -seriously- saying what I believe you are saying, Thorin Oakenshield!? Because it sounds an awful lot like you think -I- somehow owe -you- an apology in all of this. If you truly believe that, you are vastly mistaken you dunderheaded, arrogant, befuddling, high-born minded fool! -You- are the one that tried to kill -me-! -You- are the one that dared to call -me- a traitor despite -EVERYTHING- I did to help -you-! And -you- are the one that banished -me-. About the only thing I owe you, Fool-Under-The-Mountain, is a swift kick in the backside and a good punch to boot!" Bilbo is seething with a long repressed, simmering rage. Every pain, every nightmare, every tear cried over the loss of his friends ... everything that the road to reclaiming Erebor changed in him, is finally surfacing. 

Thorin's eyes have steadily widened, his dour demeanor finally morphing. He is getting defensive and angry, as he always used to when he felt his authority was being challenged. Both of them are now squaring off, hands curled in trembling fists as they glare at one another on the same spot that changed there lives so drastically ... and is about to once again.

"As it so happens, I very much think you owe me an apology! I never should have allowed some silly little Hobbit to accompany us! Every Dwarf in Bag End thought Gandalf to be having some merry little joke at our expense when you were claimed to be our burglar. Fili and Kili thought it the very height of hilarity until they realized it was no jest. And then! As if your presence had not proved a burden time and time again, you withheld the Arkenstone from me and then gave it -away- as if you had some blasted right!" 

Bilbo cannot breath for all the emotions clogging his throat and dampening his mind at the momsnt. It feels as if he is trying to mentally slog his way through a treacherous bog as he tries to lay claim to the patience he usually clings to when dealing with his stubborn dwarf.

"I wish you had never come with us, Bilbo Baggins. I spent every day for the last several months praying to Mahal, wishing that you had never stepped foot out of your precious smial." Thorin's handsome features are clouded and stormy as he issues these awful, piercing words. 

Bilbo's breath leaves him in a terrible whoosh as Thorin's sentiment delivers a hearty, soul shattering blow.

"I ... I see. More the fool am I, for thinking to return here. Erebor was never meant to be my home, nor you my King or friend. Or my ... it does not matter, for you could never be so. Would that I had remained among the elves and shared in their kindred hospitality than come back to a mountain where I am so obviously not wanted. Furthermore, I should have remained dead in your eyes, rather than subject myself to your wicked tongue once again." By some miracle, Bilbo is withholding the tears burning a blurry trail at the edge of his vision. 

Before the dwarf can speak , Bilbo casts his gaze to the spot where Thorin had dangled him and his heart beats erratically, his head grows light. 

"My biggest regret in all of this life .. is that I loved you. Not as my King, my companion, my brother or my friend. I was stupid enough to love you with all of my heart. I wish ... by MAHAL, I wish you had dropped me that day, dwarf. It would not have hurt half as bad as loving you does." Taking advantage of Thorin's stunned stillness and confused silence, Bilbo turns and hurries back into Erebor as fast as his large Hobbit feet will convey him.

* * *

Bilbo's departure from Erebor is nothing like his arrival. He is nestled against Legolas, Aragorn settled morosley on a mount beside them. While Bilbo cannot bring himself to look back, both of his sons glance forlornly at the mountain before spurring their mounts on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who wants an idea of what Lady Nim looks like:
> 
> https://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2017/12/21/12/477F4F0B00000578-0-image-a-9_1513859924024.jpg


	13. Gentlehobbit Dwarrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this came so much later than I intended, but life got in the way, as did a few problems with my glasses. But, finally, the finale is here!

Oh how easily we so deeply wound those we love the most. Once again, Thorin has driven Bilbo from Erebor and though he would love to assign the blame elsewhere, he knows it rests squarely at his own feet. How vilely his wicked tongue did wound and poison his One.

Some small, ridiculously petty part of himself whispers -good-. It is -GOOD- that Bilbo hurts for choosing an elf over a would-be King. Of course, he shames himself, his line, his entire -race- with that thought and could not hate himself more at the moment if he tried.

It is with a heavy heart that he finally manages to begin making his way back into the mountain. Though his soul is practically -screaming- that he must seek out his One and make this right, his ever stubborn mind has reared it's ugly head and insists that Bilbo simply needs time to come to term with things.

Blessed MAHAL, this dwarf may never learn!

He becomes aware of the fact that he had been standing on the battlements for several hours when he overhears people speaking of the early evening meal. He blinks slowly, glancing over his shoulder and startling when he realizes that the sun is no longer visible. He allows his mind to overrule his heart and soul. Rather than head to Bilbo's rooms and check on him, he shuffles toward the dining hall. Surely, his sensible Hobbit will see reason in the end? Of course, he would likely be thinking differently if he were actually, fully processing what Bilbo had said. (Namely the fact that he loved him.)

Once to the dining hall, he does not look about. Doesn't clock his surroundings, simply falls into his usual seat. On some level, he is aware that he is not alone, but the world is muffled and soft. Nothing registers the way it should.

"Ah, Thorin. 'Bout time you dragged yourself here. Only ones later'n you are the boys and Ori." It takes just over a minute for Thorin to realize that Dwalin is the one speaking to him and nearly twice that long for him to realize that he should care.

"Hmm." Is the only sound that Thorin manages to make, a trembling hand nearly overturning a tankard before he grabs it up and drinks the contents down in a single, desperate go.

"Thorin, what --" Dwalin's concern is cut off by the sound of booted feet slapping angrily against stone as someone charges toward their table.

"You thrice damned, cowardly mouthpiece!" The level-headed, kindhearted Ori is storming in their direction, hands shaking a bit as he advances. Before anyone can say or do anything, Ori has plucked up a heavy serving platter and wastes no time bashing Thorin upside the back of his head with it. "Our brother is gone because of you!!" The dwarf's voice has lost its perpetual softness, replaced instead by a deadly sharpness that would scare even the most hardened warrior.

(Indeed, Dwalin has shrunk back a bit from the visible ire of the dwarf.)

"What have you done to Bilbo!?" The moment Ori mentioned Bilbo, Dori and Nori came to their feet, prepared to defend their Hobbit brother in whatever way is necessary. Thus Dori demanding answers. 

"This dunderheaded -oaf- has driven Bilbo off. Again." There is a thread of angry steel in Ori's voice and even -that- does not phase him as it should. How odd. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't try to wallop you for making our brother leave once more!"

"Aye, and it better be a good one, lad." There is an unconcealed level of threat in Nori's voice. The kind of lacking in subtle tone one is not used to hearing from the spymaster.

"Count me in for wanting a good explanation as well, laddie." Balin sounds far darker than Thorin has ever heard him, including all the times the advisor wanted to skin him alive in his wayward youth.

"Me as well, Thorin. Our brother just rose from the dead, and already you've run him off again?!" Of everyone's anger, Dwalin's is the darkest, the only one to really register on his senses. After all, he has always been his most loyal friend. 

"Uncle Thorin!!" Until he hears Fill and Kill united, voices rocketing toward him as they stomp into the room. He forces himself to look into the angry incoming faces of his nephew's.

"Bilbo is gone! As are Strider and Legolas." Kili sounds close to tears and Thorin has the good grace to wince. He knows that it's not fair that he has caused his nephews such pain.

"What have you done??" Fili, on the other hand, sounds as if he is gearing up for war and some part of him is sorry, but he has no desire to go through this right now. He wants nothing more than to go to his room and curl up. Not the behavior of a Durin, but his desire none the less. 

"Yes, Bilbo is gone, and it's for the best. Erebor was -never- his home and he was never going to stay here. It is better he leave now, before things truly get complicated. He is -NOT- one of us! He is a creature of comfort and he belongs in his Shire, as all Hobbits do! Erebor is no place for Bilbo Baggins!" His final words are an outburst that hurts, but which he does not regret, because he has convinced himself that this is for the best. That somehow, this is -true-.

And yet, even the most stalwart sense of belief can be rocked by the explosion of anger that happens all around him. By some miracle, Fill gets his arms around Ori and restrains him before he manages to bash Thorin once again with the tray. Nori and Dori are reaching for their weapons, Kili's fists are clenching and unclenching in apoplectic rage.

But Dwalin ... that is the response that means the most. That -really- catches his attention. Because no sooner has the chaos begun than Dwalin has grabbed Thorin by the back of his jerkin and hauled him out of his seat. Of course, the dwarf doesn't stop there. He continues to drag him, cursing a blue streak under his breath as they exit the dinning hall.

When they come to a stop, Dwalin throws Thorin into a pile of treasure with an inhuman snarl.

"I never thought I would see the day, my Prince. The day when I would feel shame in knowing you. Take a good look, Thorin Oakenshield. Were it not for our brother, for -our- Hobbit, never would we have regained all of this." Before he can say anything, he is seized once more and dragged away.

This time, he knows exactly where they are going. The battlements. The bane of his existence or so it feels.

He begins to struggle in earnest as he is thrust toward the same edge he dangled Bilbo from.

"Look! As far as your stubborn eye can see, Thorin .. slowly but surely, the desolation of Smaug is being erased from this place. Dale is rebuilding, the mountain once again knows the sound of a miners axe and the presence of dwarrow song. All of this, because one brave little Hobbit left behind the only home he ever knew to help us. Bilbo saved our lives, Thorin, and were it not for him, we would have given up before the door was ever shown to us. There would be no Erebor! So don't you ever say Bilbo is not one of us again! He is our brother and our friend. And if you do not care for him, fine, but you'll not keep the rest of us from him." Thorin finds himself shook almost violently before Dwalin has deposited him back on solid ground.

"You are wrong, Dwalin." His voice cracks and crowns but he is beyond the fear of appearing weak. "I care for Bilbo Baggins, far too much so, which is -why- it is better he is far from Erebor." The dwarf finds himself struggling to breathe, his eyes slipping closed as he braces himself against the shame he is about to admit. "Had Bilbo remained in Erebor, I would have shamed myself ... our family ... our very people ... because I would have done something unforgivable to Bilbo's elven One. It is better they are far from here, safe from the actions my broken heart would have visited upon them." He allows his head to hang in shame after this admittance, expecting any number of reactions, just not the ones he -actually- gets. 

For starters, Dwalin actually squawks. 

Dwalin.

Squawks.

At the same time, Ori somehow manages to defy all known logic and -verbally swoon-. Thorin may attempt to wrap his head around that one at a later date. (Or not. Probably not.)

Gloin makes a sound of heartbroken disgust even as Nori, Dori, and Bombur make sounds of bone deep sympathy.

"Oh, lad. Though Bilbo is a mite close to the elven Prince, you've got it wrong. 'Tis the Man our dear Hobbit has taken up with. And though they seem happy, would've done me heart so much good to see the two of you together." Bofur speaks up for his brother, who nods enthusiastically at the words.

It should be noted that Dwalin squawks even louder, the sound full of indignation that Thorin finds puzzling. Is his dearest friend offended on Thorin's behalf or simply because Bilbo has taken up with a Man?

"I assure you, Bofur, Bilbo is with that elf. I have seen it." There is true sorrow in Thorin's voice as he stumbles over this painful truth. "Upon their arrival, I went to see Bilbo but there was no answer to my knocking. I admit, I snuck in and found him and the Elf Prince wrapped about each other. We all know how deeply Bilbo always favored the elves. Is it any surprise his One would be such?"

It guts him, the fact that he is having trouble with all of this. That he is having to force himself to find some semblance of acceptance for Bilbo's choice. He -knows- that any hope of being -happy- for the Hobbit is right out the window. As much as he loves Bilbo Baggins, there is no way that he can be happy that the Hobbit found happiness with someone else. 

"You're a wee bit wrong there, lad." Bombur has managed to speak up, fidgeting a little where he is leaning. "I delivered a few provisions to our Hobbit when he missed the evening meal. The Prince was settled with a book while Bilbo and the Man slept. The Man even assured me that he never allowed Bilbo to sleep alone."

Thorin grips tightly at his chest, feeling sick and faint. So then, had Bilbo been so heartbroken that he had sought comfort with both!? Thorin bites back the sudden desire to wail and moan pathetically.

"Stop!!" Dwalin has finally moved beyond squawking and is now roaring. "STOP talking about Bilbo and the boys like that!"

"Yes, please!" Kili quickly seconds, shuddering a little. At least he is calm now. "It's disgusting, saying those things about Uncle Bilbo."

"To imply Uncle Bilbo would take advantage of them like that!" Fill is practically snarling as he releases Ori.

"Fill, Kili, I --" Before Thorin can finish his sentence, Dwalin is shaking a fist in his direction.

"For once in your life, shut -up-, Thorin. Before you make even more of a fool of yourself!" Dwalin is heaving with the strength of his snarled words. "Neither the Man -or- the Elf are Bilbo's One. They are his inùdôy." (Sons)

Sons.

Sons.

Inùdôy.

The world is suddenly doing something ... strange. It feels as if the world is shifting, as if the ground is moving under his feet but no one else seems to be effected.

There is also this weird blackness pressing in on the periphery of his vision. As if soot or ash has been smeared across the edge of his gaze and it's unnerving. To top it all off, his throat is burning, his arms feel far too heavy, his lungs ache and his heart is racing a marathon.

"Uncle!" Fill and Kill shout his title even as Balin and Dwalin call for Oin. To everyone's surprise, it is Ori that rushes to Thorin's side, though.

"Thorin!" The soft spoken dwarf has become authoritative and in control. He grabs Thorin by one shoulder, his other hand pressing tight against his heart. "I need you to breathe with me. It's going to be okay. Just breathe."

Slowly, so very slowly, he manages to drag in a burning breath and his vision begins to clear.

"That's it, Thorin. Just remember to breathe." It is odd, the thought of little Ori coming to his rescue, especially after experiencing his ire minutes ago, but Thorin is grateful. He feels balanced and semi-normal again. (Though if he stops to think about it, he knows that he hasn't been truly balanced since the Gold Sickness. Since Bilbo disappeared from Erebor the first time.)

"Thank you, Ori." His voice is a scratchy whisper but full of sincerity. Ori pats him lightly against the heart before helping him to his feet.

"You know what you must do, Thorin. What you owe Bilbo. Please, make your peace with our brother .... or by Mahal's hammer, I will chuck you down a mine shaft ... sir." Somehow, the word of deference and respect at the end makes the threat that much more substantial. He truly believes little Ori will push him down a shaft if he doesn't make this right.

And Ori is right, of course. They all are. Bilbo is worth so much more than this. He knows what he has to do.

* * *

Bilbo knew that returning to the Shire would not be a ... comfortable thing. After all, he dared to leave and have an adventure and had been declared dead. So imagine everyone's surprise when he came riding into Hobbiton with an Elf and Man in tow. He was met with equal parts derision and relief. 

And then, he was met with exuberance and near giddy happiness when he knocked on the door of his once neighbor, Hamfast Gamgee. His friend/ex-employee was all too willing to let him and his sons stay while Bilbo went about taking back Bag End and getting rid of his odious relatives.

To his utter surprise it took only five days for his property and possessions to be returned to him, owed to the fact that everyone in Hobbiton wanted to be rid of Lobelia as soon as possible.

So it is that Bilbo and sons came to reside in Bag End.

* * *

Strider is settled on a bench beside the closed door leading into Bag End, head tipped back in contemplation of many things.

He is surprised to find that he misses his cousins keenly despite the short length of their acquaintance. Fill and Kili had managed to pack so much into their relatively young lives and he's a little jealous of that.

As has become habit these last few days, he finds himself smoothing his rough, calloused hand over the fine Man-sized Hobbit vest his adar (Father) had made for him. It was one of the many gifts their Father had given to them since they settled in their new home. Special made clothes, trinkets, and Hobbit-y gifts had been lavished upon them and in truth, neither of them really knew how to deal with it. Thranduil was not the type to give familial gifts or heirlooms to Legolas, choosing instead to keep a tight, greedy grasp on things, especially any that once belonged to his wife. 

So, when Bilbo chose to give Legolas a pocket watch that once belonged to his own adar (father), he was both jealous and happy. Seeing the way his toron (brother) clung to the little treasure, he cannot bring himself to be too bitter. Legolas deserves to be happy, and as the eldest of them, he cannot begrudge him that piece of their Grandfather.

Besides, it's not as if he had been forgotten when it came to Baggins family heirlooms. 

He tips his head forward to silently eye the small, palm sized book resting on the dusty knee of his trousers. It is the most beautiful shade of forest green leather, marked by age and use. The spine is broken in, the texture of the leather near reptilian for all the times it had been opened, closed, slung about and such.

He carefully opens it, finger tip passing gently over the elegant script declaring it 'The Art of Herbology' by Belladonna Took. Bilbo told him that their Grandmother had begun writing the collection of herbal knowledge when she was a few years from her coming of age, and had continued it right up until a few months before her death. 

(Hearing Bilbo speak of his parents' passing had been heart wrenching for him and Legolas. And yet, they had been there to comfort their Father, having both experienced such loss.)

With a warm, content smile, he flips to the middle of the book, where the crisp pages are blank, just waiting for him to express himself. It's a little daunting, the thought of following in his grandmother's footsteps and filling the pages with the knowledge he has already begun to gather on his travels. Though he doesn't think he'll be doing so quite yet. He has -just- found a home with his new family, and is not so eager to rush off and find adventure. (Even if he can feel that bittersweet tug of wanderlust)

As his finger tips tap absently against the blank page, he finds himself staring off into the distance. The familiar sounds of neighbors tending garden, cleaning, calling out to each other, and generally living their lives is a peaceful back drop to his current musings. They remind him why he's here, why the Shire appeals so much to him.

".. cousin! ... resting ...visiting ..." Snatches of a conversation float on the gentle breeze, pulling him from his thoughts. Almost instantly, he is plunged into a roiling sea of sorrow as his mind drifts back to the cousins left in Erebor. Family has -never- been an easy thing for the Man. Not knowing his Father, being a human child in Rivendell ... it didn't exactly foster a sense of familial warmth in him, which is one of the reasons he and Legolas butted heads in the beginning. Because Bilbo had been willing to call him family and Strider wanted that desperately. 

So, to find himself taking to Fili and Kili so quickly .. it had left him feeling offbalanced, but content. And now, it feels as if they are an entire world away and he must struggle not to spend hours a day wondering what they are doing, hoping that they are happy. When Bilbo said that they had to leave, it had been hard for him not to resent his adar (Father) a little for taking them away from the beautiful mountain. But then he had looked into the eyes of the Hobbit and seen the wellspring of pain there, and knew that they could not leave quick enough. Some part of him, the wounded warrior waiting just beneath the surface, wished to tear the mountain -down- for putting that pained, haunted look in Bilbo's eyes. And he knows damn well Legolas would've proudly stood at his side and helped. 

-NO ONE- hurts their Father. 

With infinite care, he closes the book and tucks it into the pocket of his vest, leaning back once more to cast his gaze toward the sky. The calm blue seeps into his mindset, putting a part of him at ease as it always does. Whenever he finds himself becoming melancholy, he simply looks around him ... watches the Hobbits interact, tracks the progress of the surrounding gardens and homes, or looks up, into the afternoon sky and almost instantly, he is filled with a sense of peace. He cannot say he belongs in the deepest sense of the word, but he likes being here. Sometimes, their neighbors give him odd, mistrustful looks, but other times, he's met with smiles, waves, and offers of food. It feels good to be accepted, even just a little.

"Still brooding, I see." Legolas' voice is soft as it ever is, and yet, somehow pointed as well. One of the worst things he has ever suffered, is to hear anger or disappointment in the voice of his brother. "Adar is beginning to worry about you, toron." (Brother) Strider sucks in a hissing breath, scowling ever so slightly at the Elf for bringing their Father into this. He cannot help the heaviness of his heart and thoughts at time, and invoking Bilbo is not playing fair. "He is in the midst of making you a fine and proper tea to help lighten your mood." Strider feels his cheeks heating, his hands clasping in his lap absently as he straightens up and glances at his brother, who is standing in the doorway of their smial. Well, hunching a little, actually. 

"I wish he would not worry himself so." The Man huffs goodnaturedly, before carefully pushing himself to his feet. He stretches his heavy arms over is head, relishes the gentle pull and pop of his spine before he straightens. "Though I love his tea spread." They exchange knowing half smiles before Strider begins to head for the door.

"A'gon .. A'gon .. Le'los ... Le'los ..!!" The sound of a fauntling calling out their names, a bit butchered due to age, causes them to turn as one. A small fauntling is trundling up their walk way, struggling not to trip over it's developing feet. It takes a few moments for him to place the fauntling as a Brandybuck.

Legolas strolls easily past him and without hesitation, scoops the fauntling up, into his arms. They nuzzle noses gently, causing the young one to giggle madly before sobering up a bit.

"There new folk in Hobbiton!" Strider quirks a brow, walking to his brother's side, unable to help the spike of curiosity. After all, the two of them have been the only knew folk in Hobbiton thus far, and he is curious who else may have turned up. (His heart beats heavily with a hope he will not voice. -Cannot- voice, because when it does not materialize, it will break his heart.)

"Are there now, little one? What kind of new folk?" Legolas is smiling in that serene, kind way of his and the fauntling is staring up at the Elf with wide, hero worshiping eyes. 

"Dwarrow!" The word is breathless and awe struck.

Strider forgets how to breathe for a moment, his heart beating erratically as he feels hope resurge once more. Could it be?? He cannot think of any Dwarrow that would come all the way out here, unless they were somehow connected with the Company, with their family.

He doesn't spare his brother a glance. Instead, he jumps the gate and takes off toward the center of town. A single mantra is running on a loop through his mind ... **please**... **please** ..... He stumbles over his own feet in his eagerness to reach the center of town and nearly trips face first into the dirt. (Not what one would expect from a Ranger.)

Once he has managed to regain his center of balance, he has come face-to-face with three Dwarrow. 

Fili is sitting astride a pony, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, his hands tight on the reigns of his mount.

Kili is standing beside his pony, on hand tight in the reigns, the other pushing through his long hair. His shoulder is pressed against his mount, using it to keep himself standing at this point.

Thorin. The Would-Be-King is standing behind his nephews, head bowed, his own pony standing a few feet away. He looks as if a single breath could bowl him over. 

He has no sympathy for him.

"Fili!" He is calling for the elder of his cousins before he can stop himself, unable to keep the longing from his voice. He can feel the ache of his cheeks from the size of his grin when Fili's eyes zero in on him. The regal yet eager royal dwarf launches himself off his pony and is barrelling into Strider moments later.

"Cousin!" Strider scoops the dwarf up into a bone crushing hug, and no sooner is Fili on his feet again, than he snaps his forehead against that of the Man, making sure to be as gentle as he would be with Bilbo. "It's good to see you again!" Strider squeezes the dwarf before letting go, grinning even wider when he has an arm full of Kili next.

"It's good to see you again, Strider. Where's the big one, then?" He is in no way surprised that Kili wants to see Legolas, given the way the two bonded in Erebor. He would not begrudge his cousin having a favorite.

"He is still at the smial, entertaining a fauntling. He will be overjoyed to see you." He glances between his cousins, still unable to censure the happiness he feels at having them here. "Of course, you must stay with us. There is plenty of room." His head swivels, eyes narrowing as he takes in the presence of Thorin, who has remained quiet. He cannot help the sudden, overwhelming dislike he feels for the older dwarf. Some part of him argues that it is irrational, but the bigger part of him argues that the bastard hurt Bilbo and that is all the reason he needs.

"You. You are -not- welcome in our smial. Bag End is off limits. Find some other doorstep to darken." Strider's sense of protectiveness is sharp and fiery at the thought of Thorin coming within 100 feet of his Father. The very thought makes him want to run the dwarf through, in fact. "If you come anywhere near my adar (father), you will regret it." He growls and snarls the words, injecting every bit of his ire into the words before he turns back toward his cousins. His smile is much subdued, but present none the less. "While your Uncle finds lodgings for himself at the Green Dragon, I will take you to Bilbo." He glares one more time at Thorin, before turning to usher his cousins toward Bag End.

* * *

Legolas had bid the fauntling goodbye and returned inside to help Bilbo with the last preparations of tea. Never had he thought he would come to love food so much. Back home, there were often feasts, but he rarely joined in, preferring to hone his skills or watch over his men. Since coming to the Shire, however, he has gained a new found love for all the delicious things his Father makes. It is truly a joy to sit back and watch Bilbo cook and bake. To see the gentlehobbit create more and more elaborate things from the most basic ingredients. 

The first time Bilbo had patted him on the shoulder and invited him to help, Legolas had actually cried. Just a few tears. Never would Thranduil have offered to show him such a thing. Even when it came to fighting, to honing his skills as an elven warrior, Thranduil preferred to let others train him rather than take any interest himself. So, when this kind, gentle, sweet Hobbit pulled him into the kitchen and began to show him his Mother's recipes ... Legolas had never felt so cherished and loved before.

Even now, he is happily working side-by-side with his Father and he could not express the joy he is feeling at this moment if his life depended on it. He is currently standing with his hip cocked against the counter, gently dusting icing sugar over the berry tartlets that Bilbo has pulled from the oven. He glances around, making sure that Bilbo is busy sorting cups. The moment he knows his adar (Father) is occupied, he snags one of the small tarts and pops it into his mouth. Usually, he would be a bit more delicate, elegant about eating something, but long gone are the days of a Prince's decorum. He chews hastily, his eyes falling to half mast in pure pleasure at the syrupy fruit and sugar. 

"I saw that." Bilbo makes the statement matter-of-factly, and Legolas cannot help but jump in surprise, flushing at being caught. However, when he looks over his shoulder and sees that Bilbo is still faced away, he pouts in much the way an chastised child would.

"You saw nothing, adar. Not with your back turned." He finishes dusting the tarts and gingerly brushes his hands off. "Everything smells delicious, as always, Bilbo." He turns and takes the few steps, bending to press a kiss to the curly crown of the Hobbit's head. "You spoil us." 

"You're damn right I do, lad. You boys are deserving of being spoiled. I'm all too happy to do so." Bilbo beams up at him, causing the elf's smile to soften into something impossibly fond and loving. "Speaking of which ... where is that brother of yours? Off brooding again, still? I worry that he cannot find happiness here. Am I being selfish, wanting him to stay in the Shire with us?" The uncertainty in the Hobbit's voice causes something to ache deep in the elf. He turns so that he can lift the Hobbit into his arms, hugging him as tightly as he can without hurting him.

"You, Bilbo Baggins, are the least selfish person I have ever known." Strider's voice causes Legolas to tense momentarily, though he goes loose and comfortable the moment he knows that it's his brother. 

"Listen to the Man, Uncle. There's never been anyone as selfless as you." Kili's voice is a surprise that sends Legolas' heart racing, his arms tightening without thinking. Only when Bilbo squeaks does he loosen his hold, putting his Father back on his large feet. 

"Kili's right, Uncle. There are songs to the heroic, selfless nature of the great Bilbo Baggins." The sight of Fili and Kili standing in the doorway of the kitchen causes Legolas to blink back a few errant tears. His family is here. None of them connected to him by blood, but his family all the same. 

"Oh, my dear, sweet boys!" Bilbo rushes across the kitchen, throwing himself as the dwarrow, who catch him with ease and pull him into a trembled hug. "I have missed you both so much! But what are you doing here?? Fili, don't you have an entire mountain to run? And Kili! Surely you have duties that need tending? There are far more important things for you two, than being here." It is not a reprimand, not in the sweet yet sad way Bilbo delivers it, but more a self-deprecating statement and Legolas wishes he could hurt something for making Bilbo feel this way.

"Irak’Adad (Uncle) ... there is -nowhere- more important for us to be, than right here." Fili speaks every word carefully, enunciates it to be sure that Bilbo understands every word and Legolas really could just smother the dwarf in hugs and other affections.

"Fili's right, Uncle Bilbo. We are exactly where we are meant to be." Bilbo sniffles softly, hugs both dwarrow closer for a moment before pulling back to look them both over.

"But, Fili .. you are to be King, yes? How are you here? Or, did .. did Th-Thorin .." The sound of Bilbo's voice cracking is monumental, fractured and painful. Legolas can feel his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Fili and Kili exchange glances before Kili steps forward.

"The line of Durin .. has abdicated." Bilbo goes completely still at those words. So much so that Legolas stiffens, prepared to grab him if he faints. "Uncle Thorin stepped down to give the throne to Fili after ... well, after what he said and did on the battlements. He could not be King to our people after he so callously wounded you, after he drove you away." Once again, the two brothers exchange hooded, pained glances.

"As for me .. I just couldn't do it. I was never meant to be king, Uncle Bilbo. Nor was Kili. We ... we ached too badly. Neither of us could put the good of our people above the good of our family, so .. we both abdicated and came here. Where we belong. Dain of the Iron Hills will become King of Erebor. He has the experience and our people will gladly follow him." He watches as his cousins gravitate toward one another. He can understand that. Being close to Strider makes him feel calmer and stronger. He can see it working the same for his cousins.

"We wish .. I mean, we .." Kili growls in frustration, and Legolas feels for him. He really does. So, he steps forward, placing a hand gently on his Father's shoulder, smiling warmly when Bilbo glances up at him.

"I believe what our dear cousins are trying to say .. is that they wish to stay at Bag End, adar, if you will have them." Bilbo's eyes widen almost impossibly before he stomps one of his over large feet and huffs. Legolas winces as his cousins shrink away, and he cannot help but reach out to them. He swivels easily around the Hobbit that he might catch the dwarrow by the shoulders and keep them in place.

"I am offended, you confounded dwarrow! To even -suggest- I would turn away my nephews! Do you truly think me such a horrid little Hobbit that I would, what, banish you to the Green Dragon!? Remember! Neither of you are too old or too big for me to turn you over my knee!" Bilbo storms forward, and Legolas doesn't bother to try and hide his little smirk as the Hobbit grabs the dwarrow and marches them out of the kitchen and to the room that he has had prepared for them since they got Bag End back.

He glances over at Strider, who is leaning against the counter, looking pensive as ever.

"What is it, toron (brother)? What troubles you -now-? Fili and Kili are here .. Bag End is filled to the brim with family. What could bring your mood down in the face of such a miracle?" He doesn't mean to be chastising, isn't trying to harp on his brother's mood. In truth, he really just wants to make his brother feel better, but he must know what's wrong before he can improve it.

"Is my mood such a blight upon Bag End, Legolas?" The elf winces but manages not to outright flinch at the sharp tone his brother takes with him. Instead, he stands there. Waiting patiently. The Man will make himself understood in his own time, as he always does. It is a trait all three of them seem to share ... though Bilbo will talk incessantly when he is in an ill mood, he does not truly talk about the heart of the matter. Strider is prone to brooding ... to a heavy brow and heavier self council. Legolas himself .. well, he is most likely to avoid the truth that anything is even wrong until he is prepared to begin dealing with it. Only after the problem is partially solved will he actually address it. 

"Forgive me, Legolas. You know I do not mean such harsh words. I just .. they did not come alone." Legolas snaps to attention, hands flexing in desire for his bow or blades. He can think of only one person that would have accompanied their cousins, that would have his brother in such a funk.

"Truly? That dwarf dare to bring himself here? After -everything- he has done to Father, he dared come to Hobbiton!?" Somewhere deep inside, instincts are roaring at him with more shadow and flame than a Balrog .. more anger and rage than a dragon .... he would rip the dwarf-king to pieces if he could!

"Yes. He had the nerve to come here, though he spoke not a word. I gave him no chance to, else I may have broken his neck with my own hands. I told Thorin to get a room at the Inn while I brought our Cousins here. I do not want Bilbo to --"

"Strider!" Both Man and Elf jump in surprise, having forgotten how easily Bilbo can go unnoticed when he moves. "That is -not- a decision for you to make, young man! I appreciate your reasoning, but I am a grown Hobbit. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, and please tell me you were not -rude- to him??" When Strider ducks his head in sheepish embarrassment, Legolas finds himself laughing ever so softly. Making sure that it is not loud enough for Bilbo to hear, else their Father switch his ire to him.

"No more so than he deserved, Father, I assure you. I left several truths unspoken to spare him in some way. But surely, you cannot mean to have him stay here. After what he did ... after us having to leave Erebor in such haste, you with tears in your eyes?? He is lucky I had not the blade to cut him down on the spot!" The elf shrinks back from his brother's anger, even if he feels it mirrored in his own heart. Seeing Bilbo so diminished when they left Erebor .. he had wished nothing more than to turn around and destroy the one that cut their Father so low.

"Strider .. you are better than that, young man. What happened between Thorin and me .. is not for you to comment on. Just ..." Poor Strider collapses under the weight of Bilbo's disappointment. Almost instantly, he is knelt in front of the Hobbit, capturing the smaller hands in his larger, calloused ones.

"Please forgive me, Father. I did not mean to overstep, nor to allow my anger to get the better of me." Quietly, Legolas excuses himself from the room, allowing his family this moment to mend themselves. Besides, he has a dwarf cousin to go and tease!

* * *

The Green Dragon is alive with merriment and Thorin is unsure how to feel about it. It's not that he's adverse to it, of course. He is a -dwarf-, after all. They are known for rambunctious feasts full of song and drink! So, it is not the merriment that has him feeling on edge. But rather, being the tallest person in the room, dressed in dusty armor and jerkin, and so far out of his depth that he is almost sick with it ....

There is nowhere he would rather be, than in Hobbiton. Even if Bilbo refuses to see him, even if he cannot make this right .. he belongs here just as surely as his nephews do. Despite the long road to reclaim Erebor .. something deep inside tells him that he was never meant to actually rule beneath the mountain. 

He hunkers down over the small bowl in front of him, nose wrinkling. It smells pleasnt enough, and is fit to fill the never-ending bottomless pit of a Hobbit stomach, but it still seems .. well, not enough, somehow. It takes several moments of absently running his spoon through the contents for him to realize why he is displeased. It's not Bilbo's cooking. He had become so accustomed to Bilbo and Bombur making their meals that even the highly experienced cooks in Erebor could do little to please his appetite. And now, to know that he is so close to his Hobbit and yet, so far away ... 

He hrmphs softly and shoves the bowl away, his stomach gurgling in a mixture of hunger and gratitude. Instead, he grabs up his tankard and drinks deep. Not the wisest decision on an empty stomach, but is he really known for his -wisdom- these days?? If he had an ounce of good sense, he would be living in happiness with Bilbo Baggins, not hunched over a tankard praying to Mahal that he hasn't ruined everything once and for all.

"I do not believe I have ever seen such a sad sight, Thorin Oakenshield .. and that includes the day I saw you nearly killed by Azog ...." Thorin jerks and nearly jumps, eyes searching desperately for the source of the voice he has memorized more thoroughly than his own at this point. Or so it feels.

"Bilbo." He sighs the name, hates himself for how breathy, breathless, hopeful, and scared that single word sounds. However, when he finally catches sight of Bilbo, sees the way the Hobbit seems to soften all over at the saying of his name, he doesn't care how it sounds. He is will to give up much in the hopes of repairing what has been broken. 

"Thorin. I apologize, on behalf of my son, Strider. He had no right to speak to you as he did. I am so sorry." Thorin feels a rather odd sensation that became all too familiar on the road to Erebor. This strange little prickling of his skin followed by a heavy beat of his heart and a swoop in his stomach. It took far longer than it should have for him to realize that he is in love. It was not a sensation he ever had reason to focus on before.

"It is quite alright, Bilbo Baggins. Your son had every right to speak to me as he did. If only because he -is- your son, and as such, protective. I hurt you, Bilbo .. so many times over, more than I can probably ever know. If your boy wasn't on the defensive, I would not judge him worthy of calling you Father." He had not meant the words to sound so earnest and heartfelt, but he cannot seem to modulate the depths of feelings in his voice at the moment. He slugs down the last of his tankard before setting it aside. "It seems my manners have all but fled me these days. Sit." He gestures at the seat across from him, smiling vaguely when Bilbo scrambles to seat himself. The smile is instantly destroyed, however, when the Hobbit begins to wring his hands in his lap, unable to meet his gaze.

"I cannot pretend to understand what is going on, Thorin. The fact that Dain is now to rule Erebor, and that you and the boys are here. Fili and Kili gave me a partial explanation, and though I would not say it to their faces, I am -glad- they gave up the throne. They are far too .. well, too -good- and young spirited to be trapped beneath the yolk of rule. Being King Under the Mountain would have destroyed either of them. I am glad to see them free of the title. But you? You are the most majestic, kingly being I have ever seen. Why would you give up what you fought so hard for??" 

And there it is ... the one thing Thorin doesn't want to discuss. The thought of speaking of feelings would usually send him running for the hills, or at least turning on his heels and making a stoic, majestic escape, but he just can't. Because he knows that Bilbo is worth every hard, uncomfortable conversation possible. 

Bilbo is worth everything.

"You." That single word is spoken true and clear on a wobbly exhale, injected with all of the feelings he can muster. "I gave it all up for you. Twice. I know you would never ask me to, and I am not laying it at your feet. I gave up Erebor the first time because I hurt you. I wounded you with my every word and action and I am not sure I ever deserve forgiveness for that. I gave it up the second time because you were not there. Erebor is a hole in a mountain filled with trinkets and baubles if you are not there to share in it Bilbo Baggins." Some deep, dark part of himself is unnerved by how easily he expresses truths he would usually take to his grave. It is testament to how much this Hobbit truly means to him.

"Th-Thorin .." 

"Please, just .. allow me to get through this, or I will never be able to." Thorin draws in a deep breath even as he leans forward. Using the edge of the table to prop him up as he experiences an adrenaline flush usually reserved for the depths of battle. "There are not words enough in any language to express how deeply sorry I am for what I said and did in the height of the Gold Sickness. I betrayed everything and everyone in the name of greed and proved that I was unfit to rule my people. Banishing you was the biggest mistake I ever made. There would have been no Erebor without you, Bilbo." Thorin finds himself leaning a little heavier against the table edge, hearing the wood creak faintly beneath his weight. "As for the second time .. for .. for driving you away from Erebor this time .. it was intentional." He nearly chokes on his words, struggling to force them past the lump of emotion congealing at the back of his throat. There is nothing but self hatred for driving the Hobbit away, and he does not think Bilbo can absolve him of that any time soon. Not that there's a guarantee that he would want to or anything. 

"W-what?" 

"I am sorry, Bilbo. I was .. I was under the impression that Legolas was something to you that he is not. In fact, half of the Company was laboring under the impression that .. well, that you were in love with the Elf or the Man. That they were your companions rather than your sons. I pushed you away because it killed me, the thought that you were in love with someone other than me. I feared what I would do to Legolas, because he had your heart, and so .. I drove you away. You were safer outside of Erebor, safer where you could thrive and be happy and I was such a damned fool." Bilbo is visibly shaking now and it take all of Thorin's willpower not to crawl across the table and try to comfort the Hobbit. He is not sure of his welcome. "Please forgive me, Bilbo Baggins." 

"Thorin Oakenshield .. you bloody great fool. Was that so hard?! To open your stubborn mouth and apologize? Did you break something?" The last words, they surprise a soft little laugh from Thorin. It sounds hysterical and peaky to his own ears. "I have been waiting for those words for so very long, my stubborn dwarf. I prayed that through all of this, our relationship was not so irreparably tarnished." 

Still trembling, Bilbo reaches for his hands and it is an anchor Thorin did not realize he needed until it was present. His larger hands wrap around the Hobbit's smaller ones, clutching them just this side of too tightly. 

"Does that mean --?" He doesn't want to question or second guess for fear of driving his Hobbit away again. But he has to know ... has to be sure that what he hopes is happening ...... is actually happening.

"It means that there is a nice tea spread waiting at Bag End for us. It means that there is no reason for you to rent a room here. It .. it means ... that it is about time I teach you and our Nephews what it means to be gentlehobbit-dwarrow." After a few moments of hesitation that feel like half a lifetime to Thorin, Bilbo reaches up to cup his cheek and it is the most gentle and profound action anyone has ever taken toward him. He leans desperately into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he nuzzles against the Hobbit hand. "It means that no matter what happens between us, Thorin Oakenshield .. I will -always- love you." Before Thorin can find his voice, he is being kissed breathless. Time seems to grind to a halt for a moment before speeding up and then finally returning to normal. 

"I love you too, Bilbo Baggins ... can we go home, now?"

* * *

Strider is curled up on the couch in Bilbo's study, his head pillowed on Fili's lap as the two doze, over come by the comfort of a warm fire and family. Across the room, Legolas is sitting cross legged in front of the fire while Kili deftly adds a braid to the front of his hair. They have fallen easy into the comfort of kin.

"Thorin." Legolas' steady, serene voice snaps Strider out of his dozing state and he sits immediately, hellfire in his eyes when he sees his Father and the dwarf standing in the doorway. "Welcome to Bag End."

"He is -not- welcome here, Legolas." Strider sounds petulant, even to his own ears, but Thorin deserves far worse as far as the Man is concerned. 

"Aragorn! I know you have better manners than that, son!" Strider flinches at the words, his family looking at him in confusion at the name, but he doesn't care. He will weather the storm about that secret later. 

"It's alright, Bilbo." Thorin smiles at the Hobbit before walking toward the Man. "I am not asking your forgiveness, Strider. I hurt your adad. (Father) It is something I will regret for the rest of my years, but Bilbo has forgiven me. I will do my best to gain your respect and understanding." 

Strider stares him down for a moment, forcing himself to swallow his emotions. If Bilbo has forgiven the dwarf, he doesn't really have the right to persecute him, does he? He takes a deep breath, and after a moment, gives a single nod of agreement.

"Fine. But if you hurt our Father again, even Mahal will not save you." Lingering for but a moment, he returns to the couch, laying his head back in Fili's lap. After a moment of hesitation, Bilbo leads Thorin to a sitting chair and they curl up together, wrapped in each other's arms almost timidly, but both shining with such hope for the future that Strider finds himself smiling.

"Oh! Uncle Bilbo! Did Uncle Thorin tell you the good news?" Kili bounces happily as he secures Legolas' braid, beaming as his cousin preens over it. When Thorin looks guilty and Bilbo shakes his head no, Kili adopts that mischievous, butter-wouldn't-melt smirk of his. "Mum's coming to visit! She wants to know why we left Erebor. In her own words, she plans to 'vet this strange little creature that lured all of Durin's line from the mountain.' And you thought -Smaug- was bad!"

For many years to come, all of Hobbiton will swear they could hear Bilbo shriek all the way to Bree.

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank every one that stuck with this, all those that gave amazing feedback and reviews. I am glad so many people enjoyed this!


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